


This Isn't My Idea Of Fun

by CES479



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adult Discussions, Established Relationship, F/M, Minor Angst, Romance, Sequel, Trespasser DLC, major Trespasser DLC spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-18 15:44:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5933827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CES479/pseuds/CES479
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Trespasser DLC story featuring noble meetings, a horde of Qunari, and a slew of conversations about feelings. So basically it's Katria Trevelyan's worst nightmare. </p><p>This is the official sequel to my previous story, <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3437933/chapters/7536146">Are We Having Fun Yet</a>!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hello friends! Welcome to the official sequel to my first ever Dragon Age story! I've very excited to bring this to y'all and complete Katria and Cullen's story. 
> 
> This fic will cover the events of the Trespasser DLC, as well as a few years into the future. It begins just before the Exalted Council is called!
> 
> Since this is a direct sequel, it's definitely a good idea to read [Are We Having Fun Yet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3437933/chapters/7536146) as a precursor to this, if any new readers are inclined to do so!
> 
> It's certainly bittersweet to begin the end of something that has meant so much to me, but I hope you all enjoy this story!

“Inquisitor, put the knife _down_.”

Katria Trevelyan rarely did what she was told, and this was no exception. She tightened her grip around her well-worn dagger, callouses underneath her gloves rubbing in familiar spots. Her eyes were the only thing that darted over to the source of the annoyed voice beside her while she stood in a defensive stance in the sparring ring of the Skyhold courtyard. 

“Go away,” she said. 

Josephine huffed from just outside the fence. Her stockings did not have a single speck of dust on them despite what Katria and her opponent had kicked up. “I will be happy to go away _with_ you. We have work to do.” 

“ _Work_ is not defined as selecting fabric for gowns or picking seating arrangements,” Katria replied. 

Josephine rested her hand against her hip. “Our noble allies allow this base to remain running and flush with coin. There are certain things we must do to maintain those connections, including picking seating arrangements,” she said, then her lips tightened. “Especially now.” 

Katria lowered both arms and looked over her shoulder. Josephine was fretting, but for a fairly realistic reason. It had been hard for Katria to maintain her power as Inquisitor and not disquiet the rulers of the countries around them now that Corypheus was defeated. No one liked that the bulk of Thedas worshiped or preferred her over anyone else. 

“You’re so much better at maintaining those connections,” Katria said. “In fact, I think I’d just make it worse if I tried.” 

“Probably,” Josephine admitted, which made Katria snort. “But that does not mean I can do it alone. Nobles do not visit the Inquisition to see me. They want the Inquisitor.” She crossed her arms. “I will go get your husband.” 

She laughed. “My husband is more likely to join in this sparring than help you cajole me into attending some formal meeting.”

Josephine lowered her writing board. “I will—cajole you on my own, then,” she said simply, and then their eyes met. “War Room. Five minutes. Or I contact my baker in Val Royeaux and cancel all dessert shipments for the month.” 

Katria smothered the gasp she wanted to give—it would probably be embarrassing to admit how attached to those tiny cakes she was. “Fine,” she said after a few moments and through gritted teeth. 

Josephine smiled broadly. “Excellent,” she replied. “I will see you soon, Your Worship.” 

Katria wiped her brow with her sleeve as she watched Josephine glide away up the stairs to the Great Hall. She spun her dagger around her hand and then tucked it into her belt.

She knew she had to change first, out of her dueling clothes and into something socially acceptable, lest Josie quit her job on the spot because Katria was so uncooperative. She would not be changing into a gown, however. Maybe breeches and an embroidered tunic that wasn’t wrinkled or streaked with dirt. 

The Great Hall was crowded when Katria entered, like it often was. Gossip still flowed like wine through the air, and she always caught bits and pieces of it even as people bowed to her or nodded as she made her way to her quarters. 

There were plenty of things for the nobles to talk about. Despite the closure of the Breach and Corypheus’s defeat, tensions were still high in Thedas. First with Cassandra’s reforms of the Circle, and then with Orlais and Ferelden’s discontent with the amount of power the Inquisition had. 

Objectively, Katria understood their concerns. The Inquisition had bases in both countries. A standing army. Some of the most powerful mages in Thedas loyal to their organization because of the liberation granted to them through her work. Allegiance from the Templars, too, because Katria had helped them rebuild after Barris was named Knight-Commander. 

But there was always risk when power was concentrated anywhere. Katria was committed to restraint, to peace. To achieving those ends in ethical ways. Yet, no matter what she did to prove this, most of Thedas’s leaders turned up their noses at her.

Katria eventually realized they were not concerned about the power she had as Inquisitor. They felt threatened. Alistair and Celene were unchecked rulers just like they accused her of being. They did not want to share that title, especially with a person so well loved by their subjects. 

Because of the tension, there was a lot of talking and negotiating. Passive aggressive letters and troop movements. Katria despised it, and merely scoffed when whispers of an Exalted Council echoed through Skyhold. More utter noble nonsense. 

Except that Josephine seemed to think that if united under the banner of the Exalted Council, Ferelden and Orlais could end the Inquisition. Katria ignored the notion because—well, the alternative was being alarmed about losing the only place she called her home. 

“Inquisitor.” 

Katria stopped just outside her door and turned. Cullen was walking across the platform that held her throne, coming from the Undercroft with his hand rested on a new pommel fitted on his sword. 

She smiled slightly. “I’m not in the mood to talk about trebuchet calibrations, Commander.” 

His brow furrowed once he reached her. “Why would you think I wanted to discuss that?” 

“You called me Inquisitor,” she said. “You only do that when you’re in your laser-focused Commander mode. If this were a personal conversation, you’d call me Katria. Or Kat. Or Mrs. Rutherford if you’re feeling all romantic and gross.” 

He cocked an eyebrow. “I’m sorry to hear my ‘gross’ romantic sentiment repels you.”

“All sentiment does that,” she replied with a wave of her hand. “Though nothing is quite as repelling as your coat.” 

“Or your sense of humor,” he said back, always ready with a quip after years of being teased. 

Katria snorted. “Well my jokes haven’t run you off yet.” 

Cullen’s lip turned up slightly. “You’re stuck with me. And the armor.” 

“Shame,” she said with a smirk, then turned back around to open the door. “Wasn’t there some business matter you needed to discuss?” 

Cullen silently followed her in. He spoke after his boots echoed through the hallway for a few seconds. “It—er, wasn’t actually. A business matter. But, you seem busy.” 

Katria ran her hand through her unruly hair. Something else for the nobles to abhor. “Unfortunately. I have a meeting with some nobles soon. Disgruntled ones, probably.” 

“I see,” Cullen said. 

Katria had reached the top of the stairs that opened up to their quarters--a room that looked very similar to Katria’s old one before they were married, with the addition of Cullen’s trunk and armor stand. He didn’t have many possessions, though she didn’t either.

She leaned against the banister. “I have a little time. What did you need?” 

Cullen shifted awkwardly, then rubbed his neck, gestures showing his true emotions that Katria was so attune to she could guess the look on his face with her eyes closed. Maybe he had called her Inquisitor because he was nervous about something? 

“We—we’ve been married for almost a year and a half,” he remarked after a heavy sigh left him. His gaze darted away as soon as his speech faltered.

Katria grinned. “I know. I remember the day fondly. Minus when we were surrounded by a bunch of nobles and I was wearing a dress. Did you—want to plan something for the date? Seems kind of like an odd-,” 

“No, no,” Cullen said quickly. He was standing with his feet straddling the wood stairs, then shuffled back a little with an exasperated sound. “You know, you’re busy. We should do this later.” 

Katria followed him down so they were closer together. “Is everything alright?” 

“Absolutely,” he replied, and when she reached out her hand to him, he took it. “I’m such a fool when it comes to you, Kat. Let’s talk after you’re done.” 

Katria squeezed his hand. “Okay,” she said, though her voiced was tinged with uncertainty. She and Cullen had been together for years. When they were first involved, Cullen had fumbled with his words; he was so obsessed with trying to say the right thing he hardy said anything at all. 

But that had changed since their marriage. Since they truly became a couple after the battle at Adamant Fortress. He communicated with her more freely, laughed easily. He felt the pressure to preform less than ever because they’d pledged themselves to one another forever. 

What kind of conversation could be causing him to act this way? Katria watched as he lifted her hand and pressed his lips there, dry from the hours he spent outside monitoring his troops. 

“I love you,” Katria said, and he looked up to meet her gaze. 

His brow rose slightly in surprise because that was not something she said often. “Oh,” he began, before he straightened. “I love you too, Kat.” 

Cullen climbed the steps to wrap her in a hug, and she nestled herself into his jacket despite her frequent insults of it. He leaned back. “I’ll find you after your meeting.” 

“You know how I hate surprises,” Katria remarked. “Are you sure you don’t want to discuss this now?” 

Cullen kissed her briefly. “I’m sure. It’s not—pressing.” 

She made a small humming noise. “You’ve intrigued me, Mr. Rutherford.” 

“You’ll just have to wait, Mrs. Rutherford.”

Katria narrowed her eyes slightly before letting out a puff of air that ruffled her dark hair. “I suppose that’s better than Inquisitor.” 

“I must say I prefer that title too,” he replied. Cullen released her and retreated a few feet down the steps. “Good luck in your meeting.” 

She sighed. “I’ll need it.” 

Cullen smiled wanly—maybe even nervously—and Katria resisted the urge to chase after him and restart their conversation. 

Maker, part of her didn’t want _that_ either because what if there was some unwieldy emotional discussion Cullen wanted to have? She’d already told him she loved him. They lived together, they were married. That was the end of the line in terms of emotional intimacy, wasn't it?

Knowing Cullen, he was nervous about something silly or benign. Something that hadn’t even crossed her mind. He had looked particularly rueful when some Ferelden nobles had visited last week with their families and Mabaris; he was positively oozing envy watching the spoiled children with their pets. Maybe he would ask if they should get a dog? Or a separate home outside of Skyhold? 

Katria sighed again, letting her head loll sideways as the door clicked shut upon Cullen disappearing into the hallway. At least Cullen's mysterious behavior would give her something to think about during her meeting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey campers!
> 
> It occurred to me that I should probably disclose that while this fic focuses on the events of the DLC, there's also a subplot related to Katria and Cullen discussing whether or not they want to have children. So, if those kind of talks/topics are not your cup of tea, be aware that there's a good chunk of it in this story! If anyone has any questions/concerns or anything, feel free to message me on Tumblr! (My username is CES479 there, as well.)

Cullen had made a fool out of himself in front of Katria plenty of times. He’d flubbed, he’d blathered pointlessly, he’d blushed furiously and run away. He had always wished he was as confident with her as he was with his troops, but that had never been the case.

He’d improved over the years. He no longer seized her by the shoulders on the battlements to kiss her or stammered about his desire to be with her. They were married, and he felt like he could tell her anything. 

Except one important thing that sometimes he did not even like thinking about himself.

Their marriage had happened in a tumultuous time. Corypheus had been reduced to a pile of dust, but there were still angry people in the world who opposed the Inquisition. And then they opposed Divine Victoria’s reforms of the Circle and Templar Order. There was some violence because of this, but most of Katria’s time was spent trying to juggle all these interests while remaining an extremely high-profile figure in Thedas. 

They were not living in a world that allowed either of them to feel like a normal couple. At least at first. As time passed, the dissenters to the Chantry settled down, the remaining vestiges of Corypheus’s troops were wiped out, and thanks to Katria, Thedas was a better place.

The kind of place that—that children might be safe being born into, perhaps. 

Cullen had never seen himself as someone who could have a family. He had joined the Templar Order at thirteen and considered his role in the world to not exist beyond his duties. Templars rarely married, and it was even less likely for any of them to have families. All of it required special permission and sanctions, and Cullen never had any interest in dealing with that. 

As Commander, that did not change so much. He was loyal to the Inquisition above all else and was determined to do his work well. Then Katria had dropped from the Fade into his life, and Maker, he’d never loved anyone so much. Slowly the world existed outside his work. He wanted to pledge his love to Katria, _marry_ her, and he did. 

The darkness from Kirkwall lifted. Cullen’s solitary life, shackled to the Order and his lyrium, was transforming into something better. He got to visit his family after Corypheus was defeated. He was introduced to his nieces and nephews. Mia, Rosalie and Bran, his siblings who were just children when he left, now had children of their own. Loving _families_. 

Cullen wondered why he and Katria couldn’t have that. Kat loved children. She’d taken Bailey under her wing so naturally, after all. She was fiercely protective, loyal, so loving and supportive—any child would be lucky to have her as a mother. 

At the least, Cullen knew they should have a conversation about it, even if he wasn’t trying to convince her to have a family. There was far too much gossip around Skyhold for his taste, and some of it revolved around the Inquisitor’s heirs. Such things _must_ have crossed Katria’s mind in the past year, but she’d never mentioned anything. Because this was Katria Trevelyan, and if there was anything his wife hated more than dresses and nobles and fancy dinners, it was talking about her feelings. 

After fumbling in his attempt to speak to her in their quarters that morning, Cullen returned to his office. It was a quieter place nowadays. He still maintained a well-trained army, but it was smaller and focused on surveillance and patrolling trade roads more so than directly fighting any evil in Thedas. Cullen still enjoyed his work and even reveled in the slow pace of it, but now there was more room in his life for…something else. 

Katria’s meeting lasted much longer than he anticipated. That had been a trend as of late. Cullen was no expert on the matter, but even he could see how unhappy both Ferelden and Orlais were with the Inquisition. 

He thought it was all preposterous. Katria had saved these people—removed the Venatori from Denerim’s doorstep, saved the life of Empress Celene—and now they were being incredibly ungrateful. They wanted to cast Katria out despite the fact that she was the best thing to happen to Thedas. 

His door finally opened, and Katria appeared, her brows set low over her eyes. She made a frustrated sound. “I _hate_ my job.” 

“Your meeting was that bad?” he asked, as she strode over and curled right up to his chest. He squeezed her tightly and inhaled the faintly lemon scent left behind from her bath. 

Katria rested against him and gave a sigh that lifted her shoulders. “More threats about that blasted Exalted Council. The Fereldans want to dismantle us, and the Orlesians want us under their control. I can’t win.” 

He pulled back slightly. “You really think Cassandra will be convinced into calling an Exalted Council?” 

Katria rubbed her temple. “They’ll pressure her enough. She can’t hold off for much longer, according to Josephine.” 

Cullen crinkled his nose. “So we’ll have to go to Orlais?” 

“We’ll have to go to Orlais,” she confirmed, then put her palms against the stubble on his jaw. “Disappointing, I know.” 

“What do you want to do?” he asked. 

She gave him a confused look. “With what?” 

“The Inquisition,” Cullen said. “If the Council decides to end it, would you fight them?” 

Katria paused for a few moments, then gave a small shrug. “I don’t…know.” 

“You need to,” he replied. “I know you hate thinking about—the bigger picture, but you spearhead this organization and what you want matters.” 

She huffed. “I don’t want to consider all that until the time comes.” 

“That time might come sooner than you think,” he pointed out. 

Katria dug her fingers into his coat. “Wasn’t there something else you wanted to talk to me about?” 

Cullen stiffened. “What? Er—no. I mean, it can wait.” 

She cocked her head. “I’m not busy.” A sigh escaped her. “Alright, I’m always busy, but I want to talk about this.” 

“You don’t even know what _this_ is,” he said. 

Katria separated from him and dragged them both to his desk. She leaned against it and kept a hold of his hands. “I’m here to find out.” 

Cullen bowed his head. Maker, would there ever be a good time to have this conversation? Or would Inquisition business always feel like it was getting in the way? 

“It will be better for this—for us to…” He freed one of his hands to rub his neck. “We should wait until after the Exalted Council.” 

“We don’t even know if the Council will be called at all,” Katria protested. “Or it could be months until it happens—and who knows how long the whole affair will last?” 

“I understand,” he said. “But it would be better after. Our discussion.” 

Katria got a hold of his jacket and shook it. “Cullen, come on. What is it?” She grinned. “After all these years are you finally going to admit that you style your hair?” 

“I don’t,” he said immediately, then he shifted. What had possessed him to think this was a good idea? The Exalted Council looming above their heads, the end of the Inquisition, and Cullen thought they should talk about having a family? 

“I—I want to-,” He grit his teeth together. How many damn times had he rehearsed this over and over in his head? It had to be done. It could be done. 

“Can we talk about the possibility of having children?” 

All Cullen could hear was his heartbeat pounding loud in his ears, but he knew Katria had fallen deathly silent. She was still for a few moments before she straightened to her full height, only inches from his face and a little shorter.

“Cullen…” 

He immediately stepped out of her grasp. “Never mind,” he said quickly. “Sorry. I know this was a bad time and-,” 

She followed him. “Please stop. I do want to have this conversation.” 

Cullen reluctantly met her gaze. “You…do?” 

“Well—no,” she said, as one hand rose to her hair. “It’s all very complicated, a-and I don’t like complicated. But I’ll be 34 this year and so will you. I realize we are…pressed for time.” 

“That isn’t why I brought it up,” he replied hurriedly. “I only figured since we’d been married for over a year that-,” 

“It’s a perfectly normal thing to discuss,” she insisted. “ _I’m_ the problem.” 

His fingers circled her arm. “You’re not, Kat. I wouldn’t expect the Inquisitor to have a straight, easy answer about bringing a child into the world. Not with your responsibilities and everything you’ve been through.” 

She turned her palm over between them, the slash in her hand spilling faint green light onto her face. Her mark had been mostly dormant since the Breach closed, but it was a constant reminder of what she had accomplished. 

“Do you want to have children?” she asked, still looking down. 

Cullen hesitated. “I think so,” he said. “But it’s—I’d never considered it before I met you. I want us to…I thought that if we had a family it would be…” 

She clenched her fist to hide the mark. “How could you think I would be a good mother?” 

He was surprised to hear that, and disappointed, so he slid his hands along the line of her jaw and pulled her closer. “You would be wonderful, Kat.” 

Her normally thin lips were drawn in a smaller line. Her eyes slid away from him, and her expression was not comforting. “Our child could be a mage.” 

“What?” he began. “I-,” 

“A mage like me,” she said. “Or like I once was.” 

Cullen shifted his weight, throat suddenly tighter. “Cassandra has made the Circles into places that—are so much better. You helped. You kept pushing her harder for more freedom. You reconciled the College of Enchanters with the new Circle after war threatened to break out. They’re places of learning and-,” 

“And it could all go straight back to the Void,” Katria said. “Especially if the Inquisition ends.” 

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

She slipped from his grasp and walked away. He resisted the urge to follow her, and instead just watched her lean against the wall behind his desk, staring out past the narrow windows. Light filtered in and fell on her face, shadows forming underneath the noble line of her cheek. Any child would be lucky to inherit her features. 

“The peace is so tentative, Cullen,” she said. “Between mages and Templars. Ferelden and Orlais. In a decade when any child of ours is meant to go to the Circle, what if the world is different? What if Cassandra cracks down harder on the Circles, or is replaced? I can’t—I don’t want…” 

His brow furrowed deeply. “You wouldn’t want our child to go to a Circle?”

She looked down at her boots. “I—I just couldn’t, Cullen.” 

“But you’ve supported Cassandra’s reforms,” he said. “How could you endorse them and not even be willing to send your own child there?” 

Her neck snapped around to him. “Just because I endorse Cassandra doesn’t mean I don’t want _more_ ,” she insisted. “Despite what Ferelden thinks I’m not some all-powerful deity. I can’t abolish the Circles on my own, or fight the Merchant’s Guild who insist upon keeping Templars on lyrium to maintain their market share. I can’t make people get along.”

Cullen shook his head. “This is…it’s entirely academic speculation. I mean, the chances of our child _actually_ being a mage are-,” 

“I’d rather fight about this now than when we actually have a child,” Katria replied. “We owe it to any future family we might have to figure it out.” 

He stepped closer to her and spoke softly. “We’re not fighting.” 

She crossed her arms and sighed. “I’ve told you what I want, and I won’t change my mind.” 

“That’s not fair,” Cullen protested. “I only say as a matter of safety that the Circle might be better for-,” 

Katria exhaled sharply. “If we’re talking about the safety of our child then I suppose I shouldn’t have one with an ex-Templar, should I?” 

Cullen stopped—he was certain he looked like he’d been slapped across the cheek. His eyes were trained on Katria, but he was not really seeing her, or the remorse on her face. He was consumed with…how right she was? 

He’d thought about his past when thinking about having children, like he always did. What if he accidently used some of his latent Templars abilities on his child, who was a mage? What if that ugly bias that had been ingrained into him that he fought so hard against emerged, even for a moment? The things that Cullen had allowed to happen to mages, other people’s children—it was reprehensible. 

Katria deserved a better, noble husband. A man without a mangled past and baggage. Lyrium withdrawal, the lingering effects of Kinloch Hold—what kind of father would he be? 

“You’re right,” he choked out. “We shouldn’t—we…shouldn’t.” 

Katria was quick, a lightning-fast rouge, so before he could move she had her hands on his forearms. “Cullen,” she said. “I only meant that…I _trust you_ , more than anything.” 

“For what?” he demanded. “It’s clear I’m not the sort of man you deserve—want a family with.” 

“No,” she said. “Maker, no. Cullen-,” She swallowed a breath and then looked down. She buried both her hands in her face before a sob escaped her. 

Cullen was confused, so it took him a few seconds to touch her shoulder as concern ripped through him. He could hardly remember the last time Katria had cried. 

“Hey,” he said gently. “Why are you…” 

She let her hands flop to her side. Her eyes lifted to his, glistening and red. “I am scared and I _suck_ at this.” 

“You don’t have to be scared,” he replied. 

Katria massaged her temple. “I want to articulate this better.” She pressed them flush together and lifted her chin. “I want to be honest, and part of that requires me to admit that you were a Templar, and if our child was a mage, there are certain things I would have to trust you wouldn’t do, even on accident.” 

Cullen pursed his lips. “I understand.” 

“And there are things you have to trust I wouldn’t do,” she continued. “I’ve…I have a tendency to run from my problems rather than face them and child-rearing is not easy by any means so…” She wiped away a tear. “Not that I would ever abandon you, but you have to trust me on that because it’s not a guarantee.” 

He frowned slightly. “Kat, I know you would never do that.” 

“You don’t _know_ ,” she said. “You trust that I won’t. You believe it, but you don’t know.” 

Cullen gently touched the hair framing her face, fingertips brushing her cheek. Katria made these delineations because she didn’t put much value in the idea of faith. She was not religious, like he was; she was flippant about her title of Herald of Andraste at best. 

“Just because you aren’t perfect does not mean we would not have a loving family,” he said. 

“I don’t really know what that looks like,” she whispered. “I loved my brother, but…” 

Cullen rested his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought this up.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she muttered. “Of course you should have. We’re married adults in our 30’s with a steady income. A child is a logical, optional next step.”

He dragged his thumb down the scar on her cheek. “I love you so much, Kat. And all I want is for any children we have to be safe.” 

“Children?” she began. “ _Plural_?” 

Cullen was red up to his ears. “Wha—no. Sorry, no. I only meant-,” 

Her lip ticked up in a faint smile. “I was teasing you.” 

“Right,” he said sheepishly. “Probably should have seen that coming.” 

“Probably,” she replied, then she pulled his mouth to hers in a kiss. She lingered, and his hands tightened around her waist until she was flush against his breastplate. 

Cullen separated from her to inhale a slow breath. “You are…” 

“Very glib and inarticulate?” she suggested. “Or maybe we could just abbreviate that and say idiotic.” 

“Katria,” he said plaintively. 

She collapsed further against him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to derail our conversation. This is supposed to be about whether you want me to— _us_ to…” Her forehead pressed into the fur of his jacket. “Produce offspring.” 

Cullen scrubbed his brow. “It doesn’t sound fun when you say it like that.” 

“I didn’t realize it was supposed to be _fun_ ,” she said. “If you’re looking for that, we could go to a beach in Antiva or have a tremendous amount of sex _minus_ a child growing in me after.” 

Cullen’s hand lowered to his neck. “That’s not what I meant.” 

Katria bit her lip. “I know.” 

She was quiet after that, her head bowed slightly into his coat. She was tall enough that he could feel her breath against his neck. 

Cullen sighed. Their conversation had not gone how he expected. He’d had no previous insight into how Katria felt about having children when he started this discussion, but he’d assumed he would get an enthusiastic yes or a firm no. Instead, he got—well, he didn’t know what he’d gotten. 

“I understand your decision, Katria,” he said eventually. 

She pulled back. “What decision? I haven’t…” She cleared her throat. “I don’t know what I want. Before this, I hadn’t…given it much thought.” 

“That sounds like you,” Cullen remarked. 

Her lips pressed into a pout. “I haven’t avoided the question just because of my…” 

“Crippling emotional intimacy issues?” he suggested.

“I have been running an _Inquisition_ for a few years,” she grumbled. 

He smiled slightly. “And doing a good job of it, too.” 

Her eyes rose as she leaned partially against him. “I don’t deserve such kindness after what I said,” she remarked. “About you…being a Templar. I’m so sorry, Cullen.” She tightened her hold on him. “I could never imagine having a family with anyone else.” 

Cullen reached down and cupped her cheek in his hand. “Forgive me if you felt as if I sprang this prospect on you without notice. All this concern over the Exalted Council…” 

“We can’t wait, Cullen,” she said. “I mean, to further discuss. I’m not suggesting any attempts at—er, copulation without-,” 

He blushed. “You don’t have to make sex sound so technical just because you’re trying to get pregnant.” 

“I’m sorry that the prospect of having a _person_ growing inside me doesn’t seem perfectly natural and pleasant,” she replied with a huff. “And since you missed it, my point was that I think we should _talk_ more about this. We can’t wait until the Exalted Council is over because we’re not even sure it will be called.” 

Cullen frowned slightly. “I don’t want to pressure you.” 

“Nature is pressing us, my prince,” Katria said. “I’m not getting any younger, you know. And since you apparently have multiple children planned for us-,” 

“I didn’t mean-,” 

She put her hand on his breastplate to silence him. “If you let me, I’ll put this off forever.” 

He only met her gaze in return, eyes shadowed because she had her back to the window. It did not seem particularly polite to say _I know_ as a reply. 

Katria crinkled her nose slightly. “If you had a younger wife this wouldn’t be a problem.” 

His brow furrowed. “Kat, you’re…everything to me. The love of my life. If we don’t have children for whatever reason, that’s fine. We’ll move forward, and it won’t be a problem because I’d still have _you_.” 

She was silent for a moment with her lips scrunched to one side of her face. Her eyes were glistening before she scoffed. 

“Well, I certainly hope any child we have isn’t as _sappy_ as you.” 

“Maker forbid,” he said with a grin, before he planted a kiss on her cheek. He pushed both his hands over her temples and across her hair to soothe it down. “I should head out to the battlements.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “We both know you have nothing to do there.”

“As Commander of the Inquisition, I always have duties to attend to,” he said. 

Katria tapped her knuckle against his breastplate. “Well, I won’t keep you from avoiding your wife.” 

He wrapped his hand around her fingers and squeezed them. “This wasn’t meant—we don’t have to move quickly. In our discussions. I only…thought we should start.” He cleared his throat. “ _Talking_ , I meant. Not, er, the other thing.” 

“I understand,” she said with a short laugh. “I love you, Cullen.” 

He wrapped his arms tight around her and picked her up slightly off the ground, which was a feat because of her height. He nuzzled his head into her neck. 

“I’ll see you tonight,” he remarked. 

She kissed him a final time before she disappeared. When the door clicked behind her, he leaned against his desk, first with his hip, then he was sitting completely against it. The weight on his shoulders had lifted, to be sure, but he’d only finished one step of this complicated journey. It was in Katria’s hands, now, at least. He wished he had been better at expressing himself, but after years as a Templar, it’s not as if he’d had many opportunities to do so.

Before this, Cullen had tried to convince himself he was not too attached to the idea of having a family. He would not care what Katria said either way. But that wasn’t true. Cullen desperately wanted her to agree with him—and having hope like that was dangerous because he wasn’t sure that’s what he was going to get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so thankful for all the wonderful comments and support I've received! Y'all are the best!


	3. Chapter 3

The sun was beating down warmer than usual in the courtyard the next afternoon. Because of the heat, there was sweat on Katria's brow and back as she moved around the sparring ring. Or, maybe she was perspiring because she wasn’t in as good of shape as she’d been when she was first traversing Thedas fighting Venatori all those years ago. 

Of course, the other option was that she could be _stress_ sweating. The thoughts that cycled through her mind were the kind that increased her heart-rate, made her nervously scratch the scar on her cheek. Every time she heard a child’s laugh, or saw one of the little ones darting across the courtyard, she’d stiffen or groan because everything in the world was a reminder of what Cullen wanted and the answer she was supposed to give him. The stress was piling on, to say the least.

Bailey was with her in the sparring ring, oblivious to everything except trying to balance her daggers correctly. She had gotten much taller in the past year—not a child anymore, but a gangly teen eager to learn how to be a competent duelist. 

Katria was about to wrangle in all her uncomfortable thoughts when she felt something heavy bump into her. A sharp pain lanced across her side as she staggered back then fell. Her arse hit the ground hard and send dust flying up. 

Bailey dropped her daggers immediately and they clattered at her feet. “Wha—Katria! Are you okay?” 

Katria rolled over and put her hand on her side. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

“What happened?” Bailey asked. “You always block me.”

She sat up straighter and then winced when the pain under her palm intensified. Her beige tunic was stained with splotches of red. “I was just distracted, I guess.” 

Bailey huffed. “We shouldn’t spar with real daggers if you’re going to get distracted.” 

“Real swords are better practice,” Katria said. “It’s just a flesh wound.” 

“You should get it looked at,” she insisted. 

Katria stood a little shakily while Bailey got to her feet beside her. Together they slipped out of the sparring ring and traversed the long grass of the courtyard down to the lower part of it. 

Bailey stepped closer on the steps and secured her hand in the crook of her elbow. 

“Are you trying to help me walk?” Katria asked incredulously. 

The girl did not move her hand as they descended the steps. “You’re hurt!” 

“I have a small cut,” Katria said. “I’m not some infirm old woman.” 

“Middle-aged, maybe,” Bailey replied, and Katria threw a playful glare in her direction while she giggled. 

They reached the clinic beside the portcullis and pushed open the door. It was quiet inside—the end of war meant an end to the injuries and sickness that plagued Inquisition troops. Marianne, Skyhold’s head healer and Bailey’s mother, was in the corner at a table trying to keep herself busy grinding herbs. 

She turned and let her arm drop with a sigh. “Are you hurt again?” 

“No,” Katria said reflexively, before Bailey gave her a little shove. 

Marianne cocked an eyebrow, then gestured to a nearby bench. “Sit,” she ordered. 

Katria hobbled over and settled down. She watched as Marianne patted her daughter on the head before bringing over a roll of bandages. 

Katria swallowed and looked down. “Hey, duck, could you…go get me a clean shirt from my quarters? I have a meeting soon.” 

Bailey paused before shrugging. “Okay,” she said, then gave Katria a quick hug before hurrying out of the room. 

Marianne was crouched down next to her and lifted up the hem of her shirt. She inspected the wound. “Bailey got you pretty good,” she remarked. “I can’t imagine how she managed that given your mastery.” 

“I was…distracted,” Katria said awkwardly, as she tried not to move. 

Marianne remained focused on her task. “Well then, out with it.” 

“Out with what?” she asked. 

She lifted the shirt higher to begin wrapping the bandages. “You’re distracted by something, you asked Bailey to leave—does that mean you want to talk to _me_ about what’s wrong?" 

Katria pursed her lips. She had of course considered that Marianne was one of the few people she knew who had a child. All of her companions, scattered to the winds now and not parents, would be of little help. And Bailey certainly couldn’t be present for such a conversation. She would be far too enthusiastic about the prospect of having a “sister” that she would be insatiable. 

“Do you like kids?” Katria asked.

Marianne did not look up. “They’re loud,” she remarked absently. “Sticky.” 

Katria pushed her hair behind her ear. “But I mean, do you like your kid?” 

Marianne leaned back onto her heels, scrutinizing her. “Believe or not, I do love my own child very much,” she said. “Do you want to be more specific about what this is about?” 

Katria tugged her shirt back down over the bandages. “Did you always know you wanted to have children?” 

Her brow rose. “Ah, you’ve had _that_ conversation with Cullen. It’s not an uncommon thing, you know. For a man to ask his wife about having children.” 

Katria shifted, watching as Marianne stood and walked over to a table littered with dried herbs. “I don’t know what to tell him,” Katria admitted. “I like children. Bailey. But, um—it’s a lot more complicated when they’re your own children.” 

“It is,” Marianne said, gathering some herbs into bundles and expertly tying them. “I never wanted kids at first. When I was younger, my only goal was to be one of the best healers in Thedas. To have a legacy.” 

“What changed?” Katria asked.

“I…” She paused and nodded thoughtfully. “I wanted to be a good healer to impress my mother, and that sort of motivation couldn’t sustain me. Eventually, I sought…companionship. Made friends. Then had a husband.” 

“Did he ever…” Katria hesitated, realizing how inappropriate it might be to mention her deceased husband. He was long gone—stationed at the Temple of Sacred Ashes where only Katria survived, but still the thought was a saddening one.

“Want kids?” Marianne finished, glancing over and smiling wanly. “He did. He was patient about it, of course. We were together for five years before I even agreed to marry him.” She sighed, head shaking slightly. “I got pregnant with Bailey rather…unexpectedly. Methods of preventing pregnancy are only so effective, you know. He was ecstatic, but I was only frightened by the prospect of being a mother.” 

Katria accepted a basket from her and began trying to make her own bundles of spindle weed. She appreciated that Marianne understood her hands needed something to do when she was anxious. “Were you happy with what happened in the end?” 

She considered the question for a moment. “I was so scared. Maybe more than you, even, because we weren’t particularly well-off when I found out I was pregnant, and I couldn’t stand the prospect of not being able to care for my baby.” She turned so she was leaning with her back against the table, arms crossed. “But William was so…enthusiastic. Optimistic. It was infectious, and after a few weeks, I decided I was excited too. Still uncertain, though.”

Katria was trying to arrange the herbs neatly in her basket, though she was nowhere near as proficient as Marianne. “Did that uncertainty ever go away?” 

“When Bailey was born, it was—I was sure,” she replied. “Those are happy moments. There’s nothing quite like seeing your child for the very first time. You love them. So instantly.” Marianne straightened and raised her hand. “But I would be doing you a disservice if I didn’t tell you the whole truth—it’s also difficult. Right away. It’s tiring and thankless and frightening and-,” She shook her head. “I’ll be honest, I don’t think being the Inquisitor gives you an advantage. You have an incredibly difficult job.” 

“I do,” Katria muttered, bowing her head. 

Marianne walked over and sat beside her, not touching, just lounging close on the bench. “I’m not saying that’s a reason to not have a child. It’s something to consider seriously, though. With Cullen. Not me. I’m not your husband, thank the Maker.”

Katria playfully nudged her. “Cullen thinks he’s a very lucky man I’ll have you know.” 

Marianne cocked an eyebrow. “So go to that lucky man and have a discussion with _him_.” 

“I will,” Katria insisted. “I just wanted—I wanted….” She buried her face in her hand. “Maker, I don’t know what I wanted.” 

“You want me to tell you what to do,” Marianne said. “But no one knows how you will feel about having a family except you.” She crossed her arms. “I know the fact that I accidentally got pregnant probably isn’t helpful for your situation, but—it all works out in the end. No matter what you choose.” 

Katria exhaled, shoulders slumping, and leaned against the wall behind her. “You’ve helped me. I think.” 

Marianne patted her knee before standing. “I will point this out,” she said. “Though I don’t want it going around that I’m giving out compliments. You are one of the most fiercely loyal and unselfish people I’ve ever met. I still don’t know myself what makes a great mother, but—I know the qualities you have will certainly help.” 

Katria smiled. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Marianne replied. “Literally.” She waved her hand impatiently. “Now get out of here and go talk to that damn husband of yours.”

Katria exhaled sharply. “I’ll try.” 

===

For almost a week, Katria pretended to be asleep every time Cullen came to bed. It wasn’t that he was doing anything wrong; he wasn’t even acting oddly around her. Yet every time they came face to face, she felt like she needed to give him an answer. A yes or no to his inquiry about—well, _that_.

She didn’t have an answer. Or maybe she did. Maker, she knew _some_ things. She liked children, and she was confident Cullen would be a wonderful father. She would probably be a competent mother, if given the chance. If she could manage to run an Inquisition, surely raising a child was within her purview. Most of the nobles she interacted with acted like children anyway. 

Most obtrusively was the fact that Katria was the Inquisitor. She had plenty of enemies. A glowing green hand. An incredibly stressful job that constantly put her life at risk. What kind of environment was that for a child? Or children, as Cullen had suggested? 

That particular thought made her heart clench enough that an audible groan escaped her while she laid in bed. She tried to muffle the sound while burying her face in her pillow. .

The noise woke Cullen, and he shifted beside her. His bedraggled head popped up from the covers. 

“Kat?” he mumbled. “Bad dream?” 

She rolled from her side to her back. “No, I’m okay.” She bit down on her lip, but still scooted over to him, curling up to his chest. 

Cullen immediately put his arms around her and pulled her closer. Katria spoke before he could. 

“I’m sorry I tanked the whole ‘let’s have a baby’ conversation,” she muttered. 

Cullen looked down at the top of her head. “You didn’t.” 

“I did,” she insisted. “Maker, it’s been a week and…” She buried her face in his chest. “And I still don’t know if I…know.”

Cullen rubbed her back. “It’s scary.” 

“It’s not scary,” she said. “It’s _terrifying_. I mean, we can’t—if we do this, we can’t give it back. You know, the baby. We’re stuck with-,” She groaned. “Not stuck, but that’s it. We’re permanently parents. I’ll be a mother and be responsible for a child forever.” 

“I know,” he murmured. “And you don’t have to want that.” 

Katria ran her fingers down the skin on his chest, making him shiver. “I don’t have any long term goals that might clash with having a family. I’ve only ever been trying to survive. I guess defeating Corypheus was a goal, but that was chosen for me. Now that I have more flexibility, a-and the resources to—er…” 

Cullen smiled slightly. “I get it.” He pressed his dry lips to her temple. “I love you, Kat. No matter what.” 

“Do you swear it?” she whispered. 

He moved, like she knew he would, to press his forehead against hers with a serious expression. “I do swear it,” he said. “I swore it. At our wedding. We exchanged some words about it, if you remember?” 

Katria exhaled and rolled onto her back. Her fingers thrummed against her stomach. “I remember,” she replied softly, eyes on the high ceiling. 

“Hey.” Cullen draped his arm over her stomach while he propped his other elbow on his pillow. “You don’t have to answer me right now. You tell me when you’re ready.” He kissed the shell of her ear. “And try not to avoid me just because you don’t know.” 

She smiled slightly. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m also sorry about waking you up so early just to blather about my lack of certainty.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Cullen assured her. “Though I am fully awake now.” He rolled so he was on top of her, and she made a surprised sound. 

“Whatever will we do with our free time?” he asked in a low voice. 

She raked her fingernails down his back to his hips while his breath fanned across her face. “There’s probably some trebuchet somewhere that needs calibrating, Commander.” 

He grinned. “I’m sorry, Inquisitor, but that will have to wait,” he murmured, before his lips sealed firmly over hers, and he dipped down further into the mattress on top of her.  
She pushed back his mussed hair before opening his mouth against him. His weight pressed more fully on her, their legs tangled together in their silly and expensive Orlesian sheets. 

Then the door at the bottom of their stairs flew open and slammed into the wall. Steps descended quickly, and Katria squeaked before shoving Cullen off her with both hands. Fortunately, he went rolling to his side of the bed instead of off it. 

“Inquisitor, I’m very sorry to interrupt, but-,” 

Cullen shot up to a sitting position. “ _Nothing_ urgent enough has occurred that merits you interrupting us this early,” he growled. 

Josephine gave him a haughty look, though her cheeks were bright red. She marched over and presented Katria with a roll of parchment. 

“We just received this by messenger. Divine Victoria has called for an Exalted Council in Orlais,” Josephine announced, with a quick glare in Cullen’s direction. 

“Damn it,” he said. 

The papers were in Katria’s lap—the ink looked hardly dried, neat and deliberate, with the seal of the Divine at the bottom. 

She could hardly process what it all meant, other than the alarm that trilled through her about this being the beginning of the _end_ of the Inquisition. The end of everything she’d ever loved, her home, her friends, Skyhold itself.

Worse, the Exalted Council meant more political scheming, dresses, negotiations she was terrible at. If the Inquisition could be saved, it certainly wouldn’t be by _her_. 

She shoved the papers off her and tossed the covers from her legs. 

“No thank you.” 

Katria stood and walked towards their closet, while Josephine sputtered. 

“You can’t—Inquisitor, you can't say _no thank you_ to the Exalted Council!”

“Too late,” Katria said simply in reply, before she opened the door and closed it behind her, her back flush against the wood. 

She could barely hear Josephine and Cullen’s muffled conversation through the door. 

“Cullen, could you please… _do something_?”

“I agree with Katria,” he replied. “We shouldn’t have to deal with this nonsense.” 

Josephine’s frustrated huff was clearly audible. “The Inquisition was originally created through the power of the Divine. Now that the Chantry is calling us back, we _have_ to listen.”

“You really think I have any ability to make Katria do something she doesn’t want to?” he asked. 

“You must at least try, Cullen,” she insisted. Her fancy shoes clicked against the floor as she moved further away. “I will see you both in the War Room in fifteen minutes.” 

It was silent after that, except for the sound of Cullen rustling around in the bed and then padding over to the door. His voice was much clearer as he spoke into the door frame.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” he said. 

Katria snorted. “Like you believe that.” She turned so she was facing the door also. “You know, I would like to point out that _I_ am in charge of this whole operation, so I should have discretion to decline invitations to these—dumb meetings!” 

“You can do that,” Cullen replied. “But…not showing up at the Exalted Council might make our relationship with Ferelden and Orlais a lot worse. Escalating to violence, even.” 

Katria pursed her lips tight. “I know,” she eventually said. “It’s not as if I’m _actually_ considering not going. I’m just…not happy about it.” 

“Neither am I,” he said. “But we have each other, and it will be better.” 

Katria bowed her head and did not reply. She rested her fist against the door and then her forehead. This Exalted Council was the worst case scenario she had tried to avoid for months. None of her attempts at flattery or persuasion had succeeded, as usual. 

Cullen spoke after a long silence. “Will you open the door?” 

“Why?” she muttered. “And don’t say anything about wanting to see my lovely face because it will only make me angrier.” 

He paused for a beat. “Well I have no other answer, so open the door because I asked politely,” he said. “And because I love you.” 

“Poor reasons to do anything,” Katria remarked, even as she stepped back so she could pull the handle. Light streamed into the small space, and Cullen stayed leaning against the wall. 

“Is there something else upsetting you?” he asked. “You’ve had to go to formal meetings before and never reacted so…” 

He probably wanted to say something like _childish_.

Katria crossed the threshold but stopped in front of him. “They could end the Inquisition, you know. Against my will. Just…dismantle all that I’ve built in one fell swoop.” 

His brow wrinkled as a sigh filled his chest. “I know,” he said. He reached out and took her hand. “But just because the Inquisition is gone, doesn’t mean you can’t keep doing good.” 

Katria broke away from him and turned slightly on her heel. “That’s the problem. I haven’t thought about what I’m supposed to do after all this. I’ve—I’ve never made plans.” 

“That doesn’t have to be bad,” he insisted. “You have the resources to do anything you want.” 

She looked at him, and he straightened from the wall. “Have you thought about it?” 

“I…have,” Cullen admitted. “I’d considered asking you to return to Ferelden with me. We probably couldn’t live in a castle, but I’m sure we could find a nice home. A-And some land. Maybe even enough land to…be able to provide housing and services to Templars who are trying to quit lyrium like I have.”

Katria felt some sickening combination of happiness and apprehension in her stomach. She didn’t want to think about the end of the Inquisition and what they would do after. This was her home. 

“Oh, Maker…” She walked the rest of the way to her desk and rested her palms flat against the surface. 

“Kat,” Cullen said hurriedly, and his footsteps followed her. He put his hand on her back. “That’s only a suggestion. We don’t have to-,” 

She stood and faced him. “No, Cullen, it’s a good idea,” she replied. “I just can’t believe you’ve thought about it and…and…” 

He stepped closer so their feet were almost touching. “Skyhold is my home too,” he murmured. “And I don’t want to leave it either. Whatever we do, it doesn’t matter. As long as we’re together.” 

She sniffled. “I’ll keep that romantic sentiment in mind when I’m looking for homesteads in the Fallow Mire.” 

His lip ticked up in a smile. “Fine—as long as we’re together in a moderately-temperate climate.” 

“Better,” she said. “Far more logical.” 

Cullen wrapped her in a hug that she gladly reciprocated, burying her face into his neck and falling slack against him. He pressed his lips firmly to the side of her head. 

“After everything you’ve done, I won’t let them end the Inquisition,” he murmured. “Not without a fight.” 

Katria closed her eyes. The mounting stress of this whole situation was making her mark hurt—a dull, throbbing pain—and she needed to remain in control because Cullen was probably right. If they wanted to keep the Inquisition around, they were going to have to fight for it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, my friends!

Despite the unrest about the future of the Inquisition, Orlais remained a bastion of extravagance and showmanship. Katria’s entrance into the Winter Palace two months after the Exalted Council was called was an absurd spectacle where Josephine hissed under her breath about how she needed to smile more. 

Katria did not understand why she was expected to be so upbeat and polite as the Inquisitor, while her Commander got to clop beside her on his horse glowering. Perhaps the Orlesian nobles that venerated him so much liked their commander rugged and angry. As much as the men and women of the Winter Palace still adored Cullen, they no longer ran into issues of unwanted proposals seeing as they were married to each other. 

Except their marriage inevitably spawned questions about…well, spawning. Orlesians cared deeply about family bloodlines and preserving the dominance of the noble class by having heirs. 

Katria did not want children so that her legacy could be preserved. In fact, she wished more people would just _forget_ about what she’d done. She was tired of the constant attention and reverence. 

Josephine was running herself ragged as soon as they dismounted their horses at the Winter Palace. Her intensity of fretting had ramped up considerably. Katria understood why: the stakes at the Exalted Council were higher than ever. 

The courtyard of the palace was littered with self-important nobles, security guards, and people she actually wanted to talk to. The Inquisition’s caravan also took up a big chunk of space. They had shown up in full, formal force, as Josephine had wanted. Cullen would maintain that image with his soldiers, keeping them at every corner. Of course, if she mentioned the excessive retinue of men he brought along, Cullen would merely offer some romantic sentiment about keeping her safe. Deep down, Katria didn’t mind that. 

Divine Victoria had just as many attendants and guards accompanying her. She was cordoned off west of the Winter Palace, and Katria went to find her first. 

Cassandra was at the helm of this effort to call an Exalted Council. She’d summoned them begrudgingly, but still, they were there. The Inquisition was at risk. Katria thought that perhaps if she got to Cass early enough then this all could be over before it started. 

Given her negotiation skills, Katria doubted she would achieve that. 

Katria descended the milky marble stairs in the courtyard and instinctively adjusted the sash of her Winter Palace ensemble. It was a bit too formal and fitted for her tastes, but seeing as Empress Celene was hosting a grand welcome ball in the evening and she would be forced to wear a dress, her outfit for now would have to be enough. 

Cassandra was not facing her as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Her friend turned after Katria had made it a few more steps. 

Her eyes widened in surprise and she jumped back. 

“Ah!”

Katria immediately stopped, brow arched in. “Is everything alright?” 

“Yes,” Cassandra said quickly. “Hello, Inquisitor. It is great to see you. I actually wanted to speak with you. And now you’re here.”

“Should I leave and come back later so you can try again?” Katria suggested. 

“Always with the clever suggestions,” Cassandra muttered. 

She grinned. “It's my finest skill.” 

Cassandra nervously clenched her hands, her fingertips barely visible past the long sleeves of her robe. “Maybe you should sit,” she said. 

Katria shrugged. “I can stand.” 

“Maybe _I_ should sit,” she replied, before marching over to the steps and plopping down on them. Probably not great for her white robes, but Cass rarely cared about decorum. 

Katria shook her head and followed her. “What in the Void is going on with you, Cass?” she asked. “Are you okay?” 

Cassandra thought for a few seconds. “I am worried for you.” 

She clasped her hands together over her knees. “For me, or the Inquisition?”

“I know you,” Cassandra said. “You do not wish to take this seriously and confront the difficult truth that the Inquisition might end.” 

Cass raised her hand and added something before Katria could say anything. “Do not respond with a joke, either.” 

Katria huffed. Cass did know her too well. “This is why I hate having friends.” 

“I do not wish to disparage you,” she insisted. “I just don’t want you to be blind-sided if the worst were to happen.” 

“You’re the Divine,” Katria replied. “You have control over that.” 

She sighed. “I am supposed to be impartial while speaking for the Chantry,” she said. “But it’s true that I can hardly ignore the fate of the Inquisition that I began.” 

Katria leaned back. “Then don’t ignore it. End this before we have to suffer through any negotiations.” 

Cassandra shook her head. “They are frightened of your power, Katria. Fear makes them brash and aggressive. There is no longer a hole in the sky to remind them that you are needed.”

“They aren’t frightened of my power. They’re frightened of losing theirs.” 

“Losing it to you, Katria.” 

“There are worse things in the world than that,” she pointed out. “Like a darkspawn magister trying to tear open the Veil.” 

“Who knows, calmer heads may yet prevail,” Cassandra replied. 

Katria just snorted, and then buried her face in her hands. “I wish all these problems would be solved for me.” 

“Is there something else wrong?” Cassandra asked. “You know, it is so hard to extract personal information or emotion from your letters sometimes. You’re never eager to share how you are doing as a _person_.” 

Katria rubbed her brow. “I shouldn’t have said _problem_. I didn’t mean that. Beyond the Inquisition, there are just some personal…” She clenched her teeth, determined to just say what she needed to rather than stammer nervously. “Cullen and I have been discussing the possibility having children.” 

“Oh!” Cassandra exclaimed, her words accompanied by a heavy inhale. She was probably excited by the romantic sentiment of the whole thing. “You—you’re going to be a mother?” 

“No, no,” Katria interjected hastily with a wave of her arm. “We’re—Cullen just asked me if I’d…like to.” She swallowed and looked down. Her hand hurt again, so she clenched her fist tightly. Damn all this stress. “I haven’t decided yet.” 

“You’re not sure if you want to?” she asked. 

Katria rubbed her face again. “I’m the Inquisitor. There are a few extenuating circumstances to consider.” 

Cassandra nodded. “I cannot tell you what to do. About the Inquisition or your family.” 

“I know,” Katria muttered. “I’ve heard that already. I wish I knew bossier people.” 

“Oh, I am that,” Cassandra said. “But…I can’t be that way when I’m acting as your friend. And I will always be your friend.” 

She smiled slightly. “I know that. I’ve even got it in writing.”

Cassandra looked over at her after giving a short laugh. “Being Inquisitor has brought you good things. Many good things. But only a few have been by your choice.” She reached out and put her hand on Katria’s. Her brow rose in surprise at the contact. 

“Take what happiness you can, and do not let it go.” 

Katria squeezed her fingers, but tried to keep her tone light. “You know, I came here to _avoid_ sentimental conversations.” 

“That’s simply too bad, then,” Cassandra said. “Because I am also going to tell you to do what is in your heart.” 

Katria sighed. “What if I don’t know what’s in my heart? Because it's an _organ_ and not, you know, an oracle.” 

“You will know,” she replied. “The Maker will show you the way.” 

Her eyes darted sideways in a critical look. “I’ll let you get away with that because you’re the Divine. Otherwise, I don’t go much for religious guidance.” 

“I impart my advice as a friend,” Cassandra said. “I am confident any child of yours would be a fearsome warrior with a kind heart.”

“As long as the kid inherits my sense of humor, too.” 

“Maker forbid,” Cassandra said with a laugh. 

Someone cleared their throat beside them on the stairs, and they turned to see one of Cassandra’s attendants nodding politely. 

Cass didn’t have much time to sit and chat as she used to, especially here, but still her nose crinkled slightly in disgust. “These attendants pick over me constantly,” she muttered. 

Katria stood. “I certainly don’t envy your job.” 

Cassandra joined her and soothed down the line of her robe. “I don’t think you’d look good in this hat either.” 

“Oh most assuredly,” Katria said. “Thanks for your help, Cass. It’s good to see you.” 

Cassandra took her hand again. “And you as well. Know that I am always here for you.” 

Katria felt a joke rolling to the tip of her tongue, but she pursed her lips tightly. 

“I’m here for you too,” she said instead. 

Cassandra gave her a small smile and nod before she turned to her attendant. Katria hiked back up the stairs—perhaps slightly mourning the fact that Cassandra had not been bossier with her. Told her either way what to do about the Inquisition and even her family. 

Things had certainly changed between them since Cassandra had first dragged Katria kicking and screaming through the Hinterland all those years ago. Perhaps it was for the better, but still, she wished the weight of the world was not so heavy on her shoulders. 

===

Katria entered the main courtyard after her conversation with Cassandra. Even walking alone along the cobblestone, she did not really feel that way. There were always eyes on her in the Winter Palace. Pieces of conversations undoubtedly centered around her and the Inquisition. 

Rather than being angry or annoyed about it, she was… _tired_. Her shoulders dropped, defeating her posture as she passed the fountain to the side of her. 

She meant to go look for Leliana, whose political updates usually stressed her out less than Josephine’s. Instead, she spotted Cullen in the corner, which surprised her, because he normally could only be found hiding away with his soldiers. 

Bailey was beside him, along with the menagerie of animals she always brought along with her. She was wearing the same formal attire as them, albeit a smaller version. Josephine had bestowed upon the girl some official title Katria could not remember. Apprentice to the Inquisitor, perhaps. 

Most notably near the two of them was the Mabari sitting in front of Cullen with tongue lolled out and bottom wiggling. 

Katria crossed her arms, uncertain where to start. “Bailey, I thought I told you only _one_ pet could come along to Orlais.” 

She looked up and smiled sheepishly. Over the past two years, Bailey had managed to keep a hold of her white fox as well as her small bear, Chauncey, whom Katria had procured from the Black Emporium at considerable cost. 

Bailey scratched Chauncey on the head as the little bear used one of its legs to paw at its ear. “I couldn’t choose between them,” she said. “And it’s not like they’re getting in the way of anything!” 

Katria cocked an eyebrow. “That’s fairly flagrant disobedience of the Inquisitor’s orders,” she replied, then she looked at the dog. “And now as if we didn’t need to draw anymore attention to ourselves, there’s a dog in our party.” 

The Mabari cocked its head, yellow eyes on her before it released a small bark. 

“He came up to _me_ ,” Cullen insisted. “He must have sensed that I was Fereldan.” 

Katria uncrossed her arms and knelt on one knee beside them. “What do you think he’s doing here?” 

Cullen shrugged. “They don’t breed Mabari in Orlais,” he said. “The merchant I spoke to told me he was abandoned. Perhaps his owners tired of the novelty?” 

Katria scrubbed the Mabari’s ears. Its gray fur was soft and well kept. Bailey’s fox, never one to be outdone, nuzzled against her knee so she would pet it also. 

“Is that what I should do when I tire of you?” she asked Cullen playfully. “Leave you in some courtyard in Orlais?” 

Cullen snorted. “I’d rather you shoot me than leave me here.”

Bailey patted the Mabari’s head. “We’re keeping him,” she said. 

“ _We_ are?” Katria began with an amused look. 

Cullen reddened. “I couldn’t leave him to this fate—being trapped at the Winter Palace.” 

Katria smiled slightly and rubbed his ears again. “I’m sure our Commander could make a fearsome warrior out of this guy.” 

“Plus, I think he likes me,” Cullen said. He cleared his throat and looked down. “I’ve heard…Mabaris are very safe around children, as well.” 

Katria bit her lip, somehow happy and terrified at the suggestion all at once, but Bailey spoke first. 

“I’m hardly a child anymore,” she remarked offhandedly. “I’m _thirteen_.” 

Katria’s eyes snapped up to the Bailey—she thought they were talking about her. 

Bailey, smart girl that she was, cocked her head after a few moments. 

“Wait—you were talking about me, right?” 

Katria hastily waved her hand. “Isn’t there…I don’t know, some boy somewhere you should be talking to? Or dueling practice? In another part of the palace?” 

Bailey gave her a critical look while Cullen only blushed further. Her eyes narrowed slightly before she stood and sighed. “I get it. You want to have an _adult_ discussion with Cullen. And probably kiss or something. Which is gross, by the way.” 

“Thank you, Bailey,” Katria said, watching as the girl scooped Chauncey up with one hand and secured her fox in the sack on her back. Bags typically fastened for working women with newborns—but, Maker, Katria needed to stop thinking about babies so often. 

Cullen ran his hand through his hair once she was gone. “She’s too perceptive.” 

“No offense, my prince, but it’s just that you’re a bit oblivious,” Katria replied. 

“I didn’t mean to mention it,” Cullen said hastily. “It’s just…I’ve thought of little else and…” 

She chuckled. “No, I get it. I’d much rather think of that then…” She gestured vaguely around the rest of the courtyard. “How dismantled we’re going to become after all this.” 

Cullen nodded. “The Inquisition will change,” he said. “But I’m not yet sure what that will mean.” He met her uncertain gaze. “It doesn’t have to be a bad thing either way.” 

Katria’s brow wrinkled slightly. “I can’t believe you’re the one being positive about this.” 

Cullen reached out and gently touched her fingers as they danged off her arm. She felt him applying pressure through his leather gloves. 

“I’ve found certainty in my life now; the Council won’t change that.” 

“Care to share some of that certainty with me?” she muttered. 

Cullen smiled slightly and pulled them both to their feet. His Mabari whined between them and lifted its head. 

“You have certainty, Kat,” he said. “You don’t need me telling you some overly sentimental nonsense about fate or what the Maker’s plan is.” 

“Surprisingly Cass already offered that advice,” Katria replied. “It was…moderately helpful, given the circumstances.” She shook her head. “And yet no one will tell me whether I should disband the Inquisition or have children.” 

Cullen’s brow rose. “Wow—you called them children. Not spawn. Or offspring. The product of copulation.” 

Katria grinned. “What can I say?” she began. “Two months after our conversation, and I’ve made some progress.” She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes. “Let’s hope this Exalted Council moves a little more quickly than I do.” 

“That I can agree with,” Cullen said, as he stepped closer to her. 

She tilted her chin up to him. “Are you planning on kissing me, Commander? Stirring up scandalous gossip about the Inquisitor?” 

He pushed a tendril of hair behind her ear. “I don’t see anything scandalous about a husband kissing his wife.” 

“Well, when said husband is an object of reverence to Orlesian nobles, it is something to talk about,” Katria pointed out. 

Cullen anchored his hand at the back of her neck. “Kissing you is worth the gossip and political small talk.” 

His lips pressed against hers, and he gathered her close to him, the buttons on his coat pressing into her chest. She hummed happily against him until he pulled away. 

“I feel better now,” she said softly. 

Cullen grinned. “That’s what I’m here for.” 

The Mabari chuffed beside them, having been squeezed out of their circle when Cullen kissed her. 

Katria smiled down at the dog. “I should go,” she said. “But I’m glad you have someone to keep you company while I’m busy mucking up this noble summit.” 

Cullen released her. “As usual, you give yourself too little credit.” 

Her smile turned into one tighter-lipped than before. “There are only so many times someone can be the triumphant hero, my prince. Just ask Varric.” 

“You’re more than a hero, Katria.” 

She blew out a stream of air and did not reply. Cullen and the others had so much more faith in her than she herself did. But where would faith get them in the face of certain failure? 

Pain lanced through her hand again, and she ignored it. Dwelling on her emotions clearly brought nothing useful to the table. Pain, a rapidly-beating heart, crushing guilt.

Katria knew that once this Exalted Council was over—whatever its result—she would regain stability in her life. But in her experience, noble meetings at the Winter Palace had a way of turning into life-threatening and bloody affairs. She only hoped that trend didn’t continue.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, slowest, worst author here! Finals for the spring semester were a little more intense as opposed to past months, and this summer has flown by, so I apologize for the delay. 
> 
> This chapter is (mildly) NSFW, so hopefully it makes up for it?

Cullen did not think it was physically possible for his Winter Palace jacket to be tighter than it had been when he wore it two years ago, but their first day at the Exalted Council, he found himself in an even more uncomfortable outfit. He must have been letting himself go in the past few years, or perhaps he’d had too many tiny cakes as a result of Katria’s infatuation with them. 

Josephine was forcing him to wear a formal outfit all night because of Empress Celene’s evening celebrations. The Orlesians could not have any sort of diplomatic summit without throwing a party to match. 

Cullen only hoped that he would receive less attention among the nobles now that he was not an eligible bachelor. Of course, the first time he visited the Winter Palace he’d already been involved with Katria and that hadn’t mattered, but now they were married. There was not much room for negotiation there, but that probably wouldn’t stop people from making inquiries of him. 

As a result, he postponed his entrance into the ballroom as much as possible. The Inquisition was housed in the southern wing of the palace, and Cullen ventured there to see if Katria had somehow convinced Josephine to let them skip attending. 

He did not hesitate outside her room like he used to—because it was their room. One of the many things they shared. Katria was already dressed, but pacing nervously alone like she often did. 

He smiled. “Maker, you’re a lovely sight.” 

Katria stopped and looked at him. Her dress was dark blue, long, the neckline modest like all her dresses because she always insisted that she not be more scandalous than necessary in her role as Inquisitor. Still, she looked beautiful. 

She let out a small huff. “I look like a fool.” 

Cullen walked over to her. “You don’t. Everyone in that ballroom will be wearing a gown. You’ll fit right in.” 

“Everyone?” she began with a smirk. “If everyone will have a gown, then where’s yours?” 

“Every woman, I meant,” he replied as he took her hands. “Now stop changing the subject.” 

“You can’t set me up like that and not expect an excellent joke,” she said, squeezing. “And what exactly was the subject before?” 

“How you were feeling,” he said.

“Irrelevant,” she replied simply, then she craned her neck around the room. “Do you have any brandy with you? I think Josephine wiped out my stockpile. She’s far too bossy.” 

He pulled her closer and slid one hand along the back of her gown. It fit her perfectly, and he could not deny the inappropriate thoughts that raced through his mind as his hand slid lower. 

Katria lifted her head to meet his gaze. He could feel her breath on his face. 

“Where’s that dog of yours?” she asked. 

“Ours,” he said. “And they wouldn’t let me bring him into the palace. I considered using force to get what I wanted, but then I thought better of it.” 

“Shame,” she replied with a small smile. “Might have actually made the night a little interesting for me.” 

“I’m sure something will happen to raise your spirits,” he said. 

Katria leaned closer to him. “Unless you plan on walking around the ballroom without a shirt on, I’m sure nothing in there will lift my mood.” 

“You might be in luck,” he replied with a grimace, stretching out one arm. “This jacket is so tight the whole thing might burst at the seams.” 

Katria ran her hands across his shoulders. “I would like to see that,” she said, then titled her head. “And so would just about every other woman in that room, I think.” 

Cullen made a disgusted noise. “I do not wish to be bothered again.” 

“You won’t be,” Katria assured him. “I’ll make sure of it. They won’t make you uncomfortable.” 

“How do you intend to ensure that?” he asked. 

To his surprise, she reached down and hiked up the hem of her dress almost to her waist. He peered sideways and saw a knife strapped to her thigh. 

“I think some good-old fashioned threats might do the trick.” 

He cocked an eyebrow. “Did Josephine approve of this?” 

“No,” Katria said, then she pushed the bulk of her weight against him so they were closer, coy smile on her lips. “You won’t tell on me though, will you?” 

Cullen grinned back, reaching down the bare skin on her leg as she continued to hold the dress up. “I think my silence could be bought. For a price.” 

She kissed him, her lips molding over his, but she pulled away too quickly, and his head followed her forward for more. 

“Your price won’t be a child, I hope,” she said. 

Cullen stopped. “Kat,” he said plaintively. “I would never-,” 

“Yes, yes,” she interrupted, and she took his face in her hands to kiss him again. “I’m sorry for my joke in poor taste.” She separated from him, the red stain on her lips smeared on one side of her mouth. And probably all over his too. “I just think about it often, you know.” 

“You do?” he began, before their lips met again, and his hand rose higher from the knife on her thigh. 

“Of course,” she murmured. She put her other hand on his shoulder. “I’m taking this seriously. Despite, you know, it being me.” 

“That’s all I want,” he said softly. “Well, I mean, you’re I also want _actual_ …” 

She gave a small laugh. “Yeah, I know,” she replied. “And I promise as soon as…” She sighed and gestured to the door. “As soon as we get all this Inquisition nonsense settled, we can figure out the rest. Regardless of whether we’re disbanded or not, I think it would be within the realm of possibility to…have a family. And all that.” 

“Just because it’s possible doesn’t mean it’s something you want,” Cullen said.

“I know,” she assured him. “And I think that I do want—I mean, I like children, but were I to decide we should have a family…” She shifted in his arms. “That’s not a decision I can take back after a certain point, and with our pasts, and the fact that I’m the Inquisitor…”

“It’s okay,” he insisted gently. “You don’t have to justify what you want either way.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Kat. I didn’t mean to make you talk about all this right before you spend the entire evening at a party. I can’t imagine you dreading any two things more.” 

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Anything I do is made infinitely better when I have you around." 

He smiled slightly. “That was surprisingly sentimental.” 

Katria shrugged. “Meeting with all these nobles has made me especially thankful for your company.”

“I feel the same way,” he said softly. “I love you.” 

He kissed her before she could reply—though she didn’t say _I love you_ as often as him, anyway—and tightened his grip. 

Katria had been kissing Cullen long enough that she knew what he wanted based on the way his lips sealed over hers. Sometimes he just kissed her goodbye or hello, or sweetly when he was in a particularly good mood. But when he kissed her insistently—pressing hard right away and his lower lip dropping as he titled his head, she imagined he had entirely _different_ things on his mind. 

She separated from him, panting slightly. “Cullen.”

His brow wrinkled slightly. “What’s wrong?” 

Katria shook her head. “Nothing’s wrong, I just know you’re about to ask me how much time is left before we have to go to the ballroom.” 

He gave a crooked smile and kissed her again. “Well?” 

“Not enough,” she said, while he trailed down to her neck and pressed his lips in tiny pecks that made her squirm and giggle. 

“That’s not a number,” he murmured. 

“We _can’t_ ,” she said, even as her fingers dug hard into the fabric of his jacket. She was more playing a game with him than insisting they get to the ballroom as soon as possible. She did not find herself caring much about the party at the moment. 

Cullen lifted his head. “Oh I can assure you that I’m more than physically capable of that at the moment.” 

“We _shouldn’t_ ,” she said.

“Why?” he asked. “Because snotty nobles are suspecting our presence in a few minutes?” 

She shifted closer to him, sucking her lower lip in to bite on it. “Twenty minutes, to be exact.” 

He grinned. “That’s plenty of time.” 

Cullen slid his hand down over her rear and hoisted her up. Katria squawked as she fell over his shoulder because of her height. He took two long steps before dropping her on their large Orlesian bed. She bounced slightly before he covered her, the two of them a tangle of expensive, and probably now wrinkled, fabric. 

Katria ran her fingers through his hair. “Cass once told me I was a bad influence on you, and I think she was right,” she said. “I’ve turned stalwart Commander Cullen into a _rule-breaker_.” 

“Some rules, at least,” he said, nuzzling her neck. He pushed his chest up and ran one hand down the waist of her dress. “Does this thing come off?” 

“Not right now,” she said. “It’s a bit complex for either of us, I think.” She cupped his face to steer it to hers. “And don’t you dare rip it.” 

He chuckled. “That was _one_ time.” 

One time where he thought Josephine was literally going to kill him. He’d learned his lesson on that pretty quickly, even if he didn’t value Katria’s dresses like others did. 

Cullen pushed her skirt up along her thighs. He fumbled with the knife strapped around her leg and tossed it aside. She bunched her fists in his jacket and pulled him down so their lips crashed together. 

He thought Katria would warn him not to touch her hair too much in its intricate twists, but she didn’t, so he dug his fingers into it as he put the rest of his weight on her. 

Her shoes plunked against the expensive rug under the bed, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Cullen tried to push more of her skirt out of the way, bundling it in his hands and fanning it across the bed spread. 

It would have been more prudent to wait until after the party for this sort of thing—maybe more comfortable, too, but Cullen did not like to feel out of control. This summit forced both of them into a rigid schedule—they only got to see one another if it was scheduled, and even then, it was usually in the presence of others, or when they were in the role of Commander and Inquisitor. 

Katria sighed softly under him, like she was actually _comfortable_ in the Winter Palace for the first time since they’d arrived. She dug her fingers into his scalp, his shoulders, the muscles of his arm. Her hips arched up into his—he had pushed enough of her skirt away to actually feel it, and a groan escaped him.

“I like this much more than going to some party,” Katria whispered. Her warm breath rushed across his face before she kissed him again. 

“So do I,” he mumbled back. 

Cullen heard something through the door, through their large windows even—the muffled clang of the bell signaling the start of the ball. He stopped and lifted his head slightly, but Katria didn’t move. 

“Fashionably late, remember?” she said with a mischievous grin. Her deft fingers crept down to the line of his breeches and loosened them. He lifted his hips up so she could unfasten the clasp completely. 

“Though we shouldn’t let ourselves be too late,” she added. 

Cullen hardly heard her—he was distracted as her hand slid under his smallclothes. His fist clenched hard into the bedcover behind her head. 

Katria pushed his torso up more, but only to scramble for her own smallclothes under her dress to slide them off. He peered over the bed as she threw them aside. They were black and expensive-looking—made out of some material he probably should have known the name of. 

“Those are nice,” he remarked. 

She bundled up the fabric of his jacket and pulled him back over her. “Josephine made me wear them,” she said. “I was going to give you the full-effect after the party, but you just couldn’t wait.” 

He grinned. “Doesn’t mean you can’t show me later.” 

Cullen kissed her again, for longer, though he was aware he could not be as leisurely as he normally preferred, especially because he periodically heard the clack of fancy Orlesian shoes in the hallway. 

He rucked up her skirt again, drawing his fingers along the smooth skin on her legs. She squirmed in his grasp and let out a short breath. 

“Cullen—we should h-hurry…” 

He nuzzled his face into her neck, kissing her pale skin there and sucking on the spot just below her ear. “Now who’s the impatient one?” he whispered. 

“I’ve always been that way,” she repeated hoarsely, as she arched her hips back up into him. “Are you going to hurry up and fuck me so that all the noble ladies here can be jealous?” 

He positioned himself over her, shoving down his breeches more. “I will,” he said. “But not for that _stupid_ reason.”

She laughed, but the last note transformed into a groan as he slid into her. She dug her fingernails into his broad shoulders, and he hated that he still had his coat on—all his clothes on, really. 

The bed they were on was far too expensive to creak as Cullen thrust into her—not like their older bed in Skyhold, where he actually enjoyed sleeping. It was their home. 

Cullen pushed her further up the bed, afraid she’d slide off the front, though silly things like that had happened before. Katria threw her head back and rubbed herself more urgently against him. He hated that he couldn’t feel all of her. Just heavy fabric, instead of her warm skin, the scars along her collarbone and waist. 

“Oh— _oh_ -,” She stifled her cry after a few seconds, just as Cullen heard the tittering of voices outside the door. Her breath left her nose hot and frantic as she sealed her mouth shut.

He tried to do the same, but instead muffled his groan by kissing her hard. Normally he didn’t care about their noise level, but it would be embarrassing to be caught by some Orlesians with his ass out. That would certainly start some good rumors. 

Katria’s body bucked up under him, and a small gasp left her. Her eyes squeezed shut, darker lashes than usual fanned across her cheeks. She finished a few seconds later, her nails digging sharper into his shoulders before she fell limp against the bed. 

Cullen followed soon after her, the voices and footsteps from the hallway drowned out by his breathing and the warmth that spread through him. His arms began shaking from holding himself up, so he collapsed on his elbows, pushing the rest of the air out of Katria’s lungs. 

“Sorry,” he whispered, panting, then he kissed her red-smeared lips.

“We should get cleaned up,” she said with a small smile. “Not that Josephine still won’t know what we did.” 

Cullen climbed off her, the mattress giving under his weight as he sat to refasten his breeches. Katria had much more work to do, but both his hair was mussed almost as much as hers. He soothed it from his temples with his hands while she sat up. 

Cullen looked sideways out the dark window, brow wrinkled slightly. “Aren’t there two bells? The start and then another one? For the ball.” 

Katria stood and walked over to her dresser. She picked up a white cloth and swiped it across her lips. “The one from earlier was the second one.” 

“Wait—that means we’re late. Very late. I thought you said-,” 

Katria was not looking at him. “I…may have lied a little about how much time I had.” 

Cullen stood and walked over to her. He wasn’t angry about anything—he didn’t care if they were late, but it wasn’t like Katria to act that way. 

“Why did you lie?” he asked. 

Katria raised her hand to run her fingers through her hair, but feeling the extent Cullen had matted it, she dropped it and sighed. 

“Normally I don’t want to negotiate with nobles or attend silly parties, but this—Maker, this time I _can’t_.” 

Cullen frowned slightly and stepped closer. “What do you mean?” 

She shook her head. “I don’t think I can save the Inquisition. Even if I wanted to.” 

“Kat-,” 

She cut him off with a wave of her arm. “Don’t try that crap about how I’m somehow underestimating my influence,” she said. “Maybe I could believe it about other things, but not this.” 

Cullen crossed his arms. “What’s so different about this?” 

Katria turned her pacing in his direction, her dress dragging on the floor without her shoes. “There are so many people relying on me to get this right. Your men, everyone in Skyhold, the people we still protect.” She stopped and her brow creased. “Before, all being Inquisitor required was that I fight well and not look like an idiot once or twice at the Winter Palace. This negotiation is…not something I can do.” 

She twisted a chunk of her dress between her hands while Cullen touched her shoulder. “Just because this is new to you doesn’t mean you’re going to fail.” 

“Certainly doesn’t make my odds of succeeding very good,” she replied with a snort. 

Cullen lifted his hand and pushed some of her hair behind her ear. “If the Inquisition ends, the others will find things to do. You won’t be abandoning them. You’ll certainly have left the world better than you found it.” 

Katria was not looking at him, her lips pursed in thought. Cullen cleared his throat. 

“I know I’m not good at this,” he said. “I can’t even imagine the pressure you’re under, and-,” 

She quickly lifted her head. “No, Cullen, it’s alright,” she insisted. “I appreciate what you’re saying.” 

“But you don’t believe me,” he replied. 

“That’s an entirely different matter,” she said dismissively. “I also don’t believe you when you insist that I cheat at chess.” 

“You _do_ cheat,” Cullen said. 

“Or maybe I’m just better than you,” she replied with a grin. She leaned into him as his hand still rested on her shoulder. In some ways, Katria made it easy to provide emotional comfort—Cullen usually only managed a few words before she was joking about something entirely different. 

“This isn’t going to distract me from getting you out in that ballroom,” Cullen remarked. 

“I wouldn’t be so eager to get in there,” Katria said. “With the state of my hair, Josephine is liable to kill you.” 

Cullen turned around and picked up her shoes—he was not envious that she had to wear such uncomfortable-looking things. “We will just have to take that chance.” 

He handed them to her, and with a forlorn look, she sat herself on the bed to slip them back on. When she was done, she tried her best to soothe down her hair, which cooperated with her for the most part. 

Cullen adjusted his own coat, wiped her lipstick from his mouth with the back of his hand—anything to keep people from knowing why they were late and giving the nobles something else to gossip about. As if they didn’t have enough to say about the need for the Inquisitor to have heirs that weren’t half Ferelden. 

“Are you ready?” he asked her. “Keep in mind I won’t take no for an answer.” 

Katria stood. “Then I guess I am ready, though that seems a little unfair.” 

He took her hand and kissed the inside of her palm. “Things will be fine,” he assured her. “Just like before.” 

She cocked an eyebrow as he led her out the door. “Yes, because before there was an assassination attempt, a rip in the fabric of the universe, some large fights-,” 

“Okay, so hopefully not like before,” he interrupted with a huff. “You get what I meant.

Katria squeezed his hand, sweaty now that their entrance into the vestibule was basically imminent. She tried to smile, but he could see in her murky blue eyes that she was not feeling any joy at the moment.

Cullen wished he could change that—the last thing he wanted was his wife to be scared or vulnerable, even anxious. But with Katria as Inquisitor he’d really never had the chance to protect her. She was always thrusting herself into danger as duty called for. That battle was over now and _still_ he could do nothing. He did not get to decide the fate of the Inquisition, so instead he could only watch, again, as the world and these nobles did what they pleased with Katria. He only hoped like the last time that she survived it. 

===

Katria tried her very best to avoid Josephine once she entered the ballroom. Her Ambassador had a knack for escorting her around the entire room, forcing her into lengthy conversations with other nobles. When Katria walked the vestibule alone, she did not have to stop for anyone. She could maintain an air of mystery while keeping her eyes on the prize: tiny cakes. 

She also kept an eye on Cullen, but after a handful of these types of events, he’d learned how to ferret himself away and avoid the debacle from the Winter Palace. She wished she could stay by his side the entire night, but that simply wasn’t possible considering her role. And she tempted she would be to do something inappropriate the longer she stayed near him in his outfit that made him more unfairly handsome than normal. 

Katria was slipping through the crowds of people—ignoring the gossip that buzzed past her—before she stopped and heard a familiar voice. A voice that she actually _wanted_ to hear, for once. She spun on her heel, smiling widely. 

“Dorian.” 

Her friend turned his head slightly while he remained in conversation with a Fereldan, of all people. He was dressed in traditional Tevinter style, which included plenty of pointy metal and asymmetrical cuts of fabric. He, as usual, pulled it off.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” he said to the Fereldan. “I see an old friend I must greet.” 

Dorian turned to her while she put her hands on her hips. “ _Old_?” 

He stopped in front of her, smiling slightly from under his mustache. “You’re 34, aren’t you?” he began. “Practically ancient.”

“My name day isn’t until two months from now, thank you,” Katria replied indignantly. She then crinkled her nose in disgust. “Though I’m convinced banquets like this shave years off my life anyway.” 

Dorian cocked an eyebrow. “You think you’d complain less about Orlesian pageantry now that you’ve spent more than two years dealing with it.” 

“Complaining is half the fun at these things,” Katria said. 

Dorian raised his glass. “The other half being consuming alcohol.” 

She crossed her arms and grinned. “And here I was forgetting what made us such good friends. You’re hardly around anymore.” 

“Some of us have to try to make Thedas a better place,” Dorian replied. “Not all of us can sit around Skyhold trying for an heir.” 

Katria huffed. “Now who told you that?” 

“Leliana. Varric. Josephine. Take your pick,” he said. 

She looked around at the nobles milling past them, cognizant of the sensitive ears probably tuned to their conversation. Hopefully the music from the dancing below was enough to drown out anything too revealing. 

“It’s not true,” she said. 

Dorian took a sip of his drink. “Oh I know. But Cullen certainly wants it to be.” 

Katria flushed red and looked down. “We have more pressing matters to discuss, you know.” 

“What?” Dorian began with a skeptical look. He held his hand out. “All of this? Let’s not pretend you can’t get exactly what you want at this little negotiation.” 

“You give me too much credit,” Katria said. “They think I’m the enemy.” 

Dorian shrugged. “You are, in a way,” he replied. “Anyone who siphons power away from them is.” He smirked. “Now you know what I felt like when I first came to the Inquisition. The big, bad mage from Tevinter.”

Katria sighed. “It’s not fair. I’m not their enemy. I just…wanted to make Thedas better. I still do.” 

He made a disgusted sound. “This is why people don’t like you anymore. So sentimental.” 

“Very funny,” she deadpanned. “If you don’t think I should say that, what should I do?” 

“About the Inquisition?” he began. “You’re actually asking for my opinion?” 

Katria nodded. “I am. Unless your opinion is to keep the Inquisition around so you can keep getting a per diem for fabric.” 

Dorian smiled. “You _should_ keep doing that. I am but one Tevinter in the Inquisition, and I need to maintain a certain image.” 

She looked around the room—so much excess surrounded her, and baseless pleasantries. Sometimes she wondered why she bothered saving all this. “That might not be enough to convince the Exalted Council to keep us around.” 

“You’ll convince them somehow,” Dorian said. “You always do.” 

Katria looked down and rubbed her brow. It was hard to breathe in this room, and not just because of her dress. “This is serious, Dorian,” she said. “And I…hate serious.” 

“I don’t see why you’re so concerned,” he replied. “Every decision you’ve ever made has shaped the course of history. This is just one in the same.” 

She lifted her head. “I don’t want to fight anyone over this.”

“Oh but that’s the fun part,” he said. “It’s all the rage in Tevinter.” 

Katria wanted to be annoyed with him, but he was only doing exactly what she wanted—being _unserious_. Not echoing dramatic sentiments about her place in the world and what responsibilities she should take on. 

Dorian drained his glass. “The more you worry, the more you let them win.” 

“I’m not worried,” she muttered. 

“Right, of course,” he said. “I forgot you don’t feel any emotions at all.” 

“You and I have that in common,” she replied with a smirk. 

There was a rustling of expensive fabric behind them before Josephine appeared with a polite smile. “There you are,” she said. “I have some guests you need to speak to.” 

Katria tried valiantly to suppress that groan that wanted to escape her. “Can I get some tiny cakes first?” 

Josephine shook her head. “You’ve had enough. I’ve seen you fill your plate three times!” 

“Yes, but-,” 

Josephine took her by the arm with a gentle but still insistent grip. “Come along, Inquisitor.” 

Katria frowned slightly, a sigh finally leaving her lips. She looked at Dorian. “I’ll see you later.” 

“I’m sure you will,” Dorian replied, grinning. “You’ll need my help when this diplomatic soiree inevitably becomes a bloodbath per what normally when you show up.”

Katria just frowned further as she was dragged away. She certainly didn’t want to repeat the events of the Winter Palace at this summit—there were far too many innocent lives taken there. But if there were some other way she could use her daggers and avoid political conversations, she’d be more than happy to fight. If only until the evening was over.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please read before proceeding!**
> 
> Hi friends! 
> 
> I am closing in on the one-year anniversary of posting this story, which by all accounts has not been updated at a rate I am pleased with. So, I definitely apologize for that. I wrote so much for a year and a half that I lost a lot of steam. 
> 
> A couple of months ago, I made a decision about this story--I decided I would write it, but I would write only the parts I really wanted to. For me, that meant skipping over the canon parts from Trespasser and opening on the story post-Solas interaction. After that, I just wrote out the scenes that spoke to me, so you'll find what I've posted here, and while it is somewhat linear, it doesn't flow completely perfectly. (And as with most of my writing, I feel like its terrible, but hey, I do this for fun, so there we go.) 
> 
> But, I figured bits and pieces of the story would be better than nothing at all. :) 
> 
> I plan to keep adding to this, but not on a regular interval. Just overly cutesy fluff. 
> 
> Thank y'all for your patience and support and overall awesomeness. And of course, feel free to leave a comment or find me on Tumblr if you have any comments or concerns.
> 
> PS: I'm sorry if those who are subscribed to the story got a slew of emails because of this mass posting. I don't mean to overload your inboxes!

Katria awoke—eyes wide, staring at the stone ceiling over her head. She felt like she was outside her body, looking down at herself tucked tightly under the covers, face gaunt, hair soothed down more neatly than she ever had it. 

Arm _gone._

Her heart trilled rapidly in her chest, probably from panic, but also from the pieces of her memory that remained intact. Solas—fucking Solas—had grabbed her hand, tamed the angry green tendrils crawling up her wrist and arm, and then she’d fallen to her knees. She didn’t remember anything after that, though she knew what the pain meant. Knew what Solas’s solution was to her problem. The magic from the mark had already been eating away at her palm once she reached him. 

Her chest rose under the covers after a sigh left her. 

Someone was asleep with their head near her stomach, and they jolted up when she shifted. 

It was Cullen, his blonde hair a matted mess. His brown eyes widened. 

“Katria,” he croaked, and then his arms were around her, crushing her against his chest with a surprising amount of force. 

She did not embrace him back because he’d pinned her arms—arm—at her side. 

“Cullen-,” 

His fingers clenched into her tunic. He didn’t loosen his grip, clinging to her like she was still dying, like Solas planned to take her away. 

“I-I thought…” His voice broke and he buried his face in her neck. “I thought I’d lost you this time.” 

“I’m okay,” she whispered. 

He pulled back and put one hand against her cheek. “They told me…” 

Katria furrowed her brow—now that Cullen was closer, she could see the dark circles under his eyes, the red veins. “Have you slept at all?” 

“Not since they found you,” Cullen said. “In the Eluvian. I wanted to be here when you woke up. It’s been almost two days and…” 

“Two days?” she began. “Cullen, there was no need.” 

He leaned back. “I thought you were dying.” 

Katria sat up slightly, still mostly tucked in the blankets. “Well I’m not dead, am I?”

Cullen hesitated, dry lips pursed. “Kat, there’s something you should know. Solas-,” 

“Took my arm,” she finished. “Yeah, I know.” She wiggled her shoulders and lifted her arms out of the coverlet. Well, her arm and the bandage on her other side covering up what was left of her arm. The mark, Solas, Cassandra, whoever had taken it off at the elbow. 

Katria clenched her jaw tight—she was out of her body again because this arm could not belong to her. This wasn’t happening—could not be happening, after she’d given so much to the Inquisition. 

She lowered her shoulder. “Well,” she said, clearing her throat. “Seems like I’ll need to find a new hobby. Won’t be much of a dual-wielding rouge with one arm.” 

Cullen did not laugh at her joke, or wit, or whatever it was. He slid his hand over her knee. “Katria,” he said softly. “I know this is overwhelming.” 

She shook her head. “What’s overwhelming is Solas’s lovely plan to destroy the world as we know it.” 

“It’s not your job to worry about that,” Cullen said. 

“Why?” Katria asked. “Am I no longer the Inquisitor?” 

“No one is worried about that right now,” he replied. “Kat, please.” 

She gave a sharp exhale. “What, Cullen?” she began. “I’m fine. I feel—much less pain than I did when I had, you know, two arms and a crazy magical mark.” 

His brow wrinkled. “But-,” 

Katria leaned forward until her lips were pressed gently against his. “Why don’t you get Leliana and Josephine? I doubt the Exalted Council ended just because I was unconscious.” 

Cullen frowned slightly once she’d separated from him—he could see right through her. She was his wife after all. The fact that she wanted to discuss Inquisition business was a sure sign she was trying to bury what had happened. But she had plenty of time to cope with the consequences of Solas’s actions—she had to live with it forever, after all. 

Cullen wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He squeezed her knee and then put his hand on her jaw. “I’ll go get them,” he said. 

“Thank you,” she replied with a soft smile. 

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her cheek. “I love you, Kat. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Katria assured him. “I’m here now.” 

Cullen hovered for a few more moments, clearly unwilling to leave her. He eventually gave her a final squeeze before standing and disappearing from their room. He was probably sprinting to find Leliana and Josephine so he could arrive back sooner. 

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Katria alone in a dim room. She didn’t like that and flopped back under the covers. She wanted to lay there. To lay there and not think about the fact that not all of her was laying there. Something was gone, torn from her—so rapidly. 

“You’re fine,” she said aloud. “Fine.” She let out a sharp breath to move a tendril of hair that had fallen across her face. 

“Fuck.” 

===

There was no doubt that the Orlesians in the halls of the Winter Palace would call Cullen’s descent from his room rude. He rushed past people who politely greeted him—he might have even accidently knocked down a dowager—but he could care less about that because he was delirious from a lack of sleep and elated that he hadn’t lost his wife. 

Leliana and Josephine were in a small room, planning. He had not been there in two days to help them—he’d shirked his responsibilities to wait at Katria’s bedside for her to wake up. 

Cullen hurried down the narrow stairs, and Leliana and Josephine immediately turned. 

“Is she awake?” Josephine asked hopefully. 

He was a little out of breath. “Yes,” he said. “Just now.” 

Leliana furrowed her brow. “So what are you doing here?” 

Cullen sighed. “She…wanted me to get you two. To talk about what’s happened at the Exalted Council.” 

“Oh,” Josephine began, sounding confused. “That’s…” She shook her head. “Are you sure she’s okay?” 

He put his hands on his hips. “She said so.” 

Leliana raised an eyebrow. “Even though-,” 

“She doesn’t want to talk about it,” Cullen said. “I don’t want to force her. I’m just glad she’s alive.” 

Josephine began gathering up the reports on the table in front of her. “Well, I’d hate to keep her waiting. We do have plenty to discuss.” 

Cullen frowned slightly—he did not want to talk about business. Who knew what Katria was going to decide in her current state? Why should she be forced to make decisions when she’d been through so much? 

Leliana helped Josephine with her papers—she had far too many of them—and the three of them headed back to their room, at a much slower pace than he preferred. 

Cullen pushed the door open, and was not surprised to see Katria out of the bed. She’d fashioned a sling for her arm, made the bed, and was rooting around a half opened drawer with one hand. 

She turned when she saw them and grinned. “Please tell me you brought some alcohol.” 

Josephine hurriedly put her papers on the bed. “Oh, Inquisitor!” she exclaimed. “I’m so glad you’re alright.” 

Josephine hugged her, and Katria stiffened and cleared her throat. “Oh, well—really, I’m fine.” 

Leliana merely crossed her arms. “You’re doing so well you apparently want to talk about business.” 

Josephine had separated from her, and Katria shrugged. “I assume the world kept spinning while I was unconscious. Or that Teagan found more to complain about.” 

“He did,” Josephine said grimly. “There has been a bit too much…transparency in regards to what happened.” 

“What does that mean?” Cullen asked. He had walked the furthest into the room, but Katria did not seem interested in standing too close to him. 

Josephine hesitated. “I’ve been able to proudly report that the Inquisitor again saved the lives of countless dignitaries and other citizens, but-,”

“But Teagan and the others are well aware that we put them in danger in the first place,” Leliana finished. 

Katria shook her head. “Is Orlais even on our side anymore?” 

“They are,” Josephine said. “Though they want to exact more influence over us than ever if we stick around. I don’t know how much longer Cassandra will be able to advocate on your behalf.” 

Katria leaned against the ornate dresser where she’d been rooting around earlier. “She won’t need to.” 

Leliana’s brow rose slightly. “Inquisitor?” 

She was silent in response, looking down, hair hanging past her shoulders. “This is-,” A sigh left her. “We can’t keep on like this. Or I can’t. You all have been better at this than me anyway. All limbs intact and everything.” 

“You can absolutely still be the Inquisitor even though-,” 

Katria raised her head, cutting Josephine off. “I don’t want to be the Inquisitor. It’s clear we should end this.” 

“Katria,” Cullen began, brow furrowed. “There’s still so much we can do. Don’t let these—these politicians push you around.” 

She turned to him. “I joined the Inquisition because I had to. I became the Inquisitor because I _had to_. And now, for the first time in years, I don’t have to keep doing this. So I won’t.” 

Cullen shook his head. “You became the Inquisitor because you wanted to help people. And you still can.” 

“Why can’t you understand that this was never who I was meant to be?” she began, voice sharper. “It wasn’t the Maker, or Andraste—it was Solas’s mistake. I touched his stupid orb, and people—you people thought that because I had a mark on my hand that was killing me, I was destined for greatness.”

“Katria-,” 

She exhaled sharply, cutting Cullen off. “I wasn’t even a hero this time. I saved the Winter Palace from us. Because we brought the problem here.” 

“That wasn’t your fault,” he replied firmly. 

“Yes, but it’s my responsibility,” she said. “The Inquisition has to be managed so we don’t turn into…the corrupt people we’re supposed to be fighting.” 

Cullen held out one arm. “That would never happen.” 

Katria met his gaze with a stern, but calm look. “You’re right. It won’t. I’m ending things before there’s even a chance.” She gestured to the window. “The Inquisition did what it was designed to do. Defeat Corypheus. Close the Breach. Now that Cassandra is in power, there’s…some stability.” 

“For now,” he said. 

Katria pursed her lips until they were white. “Josephine asked, and I gave my answer. We’re ending the Inquisition.” 

Josephine shifted uncomfortably. “Perhaps we can revisit this decision-,” 

“There’s nothing to revisit,” Katria snapped. “I lost my arm, not a part of my brain.” 

“I didn’t mean to imply-,” 

Katria turned and walked over to the cluster of chairs in the large room. “You did mean to,” she muttered. 

Cullen took a few steps closer, but Katria had already flopped down in the chair not facing them, slouching. 

“I seem to have lost the energy for anymore talk about business,” she remarked in a surly tone. Then she waved her hand dismissively—it was the only part of her they could see. “I’ll appear before the Council tomorrow.” 

Josephine politely cleared her throat. “Of course, Inquisitor.”

Leliana was the first to turn for the door, and Josephine trailed after her. Cullen tried to convince himself to stay—to rationalize that Katria wanted him to. But she didn’t. She wanted to be alone, and his words would contribute nothing because he couldn’t even think of anything to say. 

He was the last out, so he closed the door securely behind him. 

Josephine dipped her pen in the inkwell on her board. “I will begin drawing up the papers we need,” she said. “I’ll also meet with Divine Victoria and inform her in advance-,” 

“Wait, wait,” Cullen said. “We’re going through with this?” 

Leliana raised a brow. “She’s the Inquisitor, Cullen.” 

“I’m aware,” he snapped. “But she’s-,” 

“She’s right,” Josephine finished. “You haven’t been in any negotiations, but I’ve seen how strong their resistance is to the Inquisition continuing any further.” 

“I don’t care about their dithering,” Cullen said gruffly. 

Josephine huffed. “I’m aware that you are a man with a hammer to whom every problem appears as a nail, but continuing the Inquisition against the wishes of the Exalted Council would vastly complicate our lives.” 

Cullen frowned slightly and gestured to Leliana. “Do you agree with her?” 

Leliana crossed her arms. “I’m not concerned about the public existence of the Inquisition. I can accomplish my goals without its official presence.” 

“Why are you pushing so hard?” Josephine asked. “If Katria doesn’t want to be Inquisitor anymore, then why should she?” 

Cullen clenched his jaw. “I didn’t—it was not my intention to be so harsh. I want the Inquisition to remain in power because I think we do a lot of good and are a check on these nobles who think they can push us around.” He shook his head. “I hate hearing Katria insist she was never meant for this.” 

“Perhaps that’s why we’ve been so successful until this point,” Leliana replied. 

“Indeed,” Josephine agreed. “Now, I’m going to get to work.” She pointed to Cullen. “You should go get Katria something to eat. Inform her that I’ll arrange for her to appear before the Council tomorrow, if she has no objections.” 

Cullen felt the tension in his shoulders release—in defeat more than anything. He was so inept at this. He doubted he’d ever have the right words to make Katria feel better. Though maybe there weren’t any. 

===

Katria stayed slouched in the plush chair in her room for—well, she did not know how long. She preferred the pall that had drifted over her thoughts because if she were any sharper, any more conscious, she’d think of all the things she could no longer do.  
Except she also tried to tell herself, for the thousandth time, that she was fine. She wasn’t even injured—well, except for the arm, but it didn’t hurt. In fact, she felt better now that the mark was gone and not eating her alive from the fingers up. 

She was also fine the Inquisition was ending. It was only a matter of time, really, with her skills. While Cullen thought she could manage such a massive organization without any hint of corruption, he had been wrong. The Inquisition was meant to serve a purpose—she was meant to serve a purpose. Now that her mark was gone, now that Thedas was stable, what more could she do? Help people, sure, but that did not outweigh the risks of the Inquisition continuing to concentrate power like it had. She could not control all her agents, and neither could her advisors. 

Her friends needed to move on too. Some already had. Dorian in Tevinter, Varric in Kirkwall. Josephine needed to return home, and Cassandra had a hell of a job to do. Katria…had no plan. She’d never had a plan. Her life hadn’t been predetermined since she’d left the Free Marches. 

The door opened behind her—no knock, so she knew it was Cullen. He shuffled into the room and placed a tray down on the table in front of her. He flopped down in the chair opposite her, looking exhausted. 

Katria smiled without her teeth and reached for the tray of tiny cakes. Then, of course, she realized she could not hold the plate with one hand and eat with the other—there was only one now. 

She placed the plate precariously on her lap, hopefully burying the frustrated look on her face. 

Cullen had his elbows on his knees. “I’m sorry for pushing you so hard earlier.” 

Her mouth was full, and she swallowed. “Apologizing is worse,” she remarked. “You don’t have to pull your punches just because of what happened. I’d prefer you to treat me like a normal person and share your opinion.” 

He laced his fingers together—she wondered if she was jealous of him. “I’m trying to be sensitive. Not because of your arm, but because of the trauma-,” 

“Trauma?” she began incredulously. “It’s just—an arm, Cullen. Maker. I’m still alive.” She pushed the cakes around her small plate, her appetite suddenly gone. “I said I was fine.” 

Cullen was silent, then bowed his head. “Okay,” he said. “But if you ever want to talk to me, I’m here.” 

Katria chuckled. “I would hope you would be, we are married.” 

“You know what I meant,” he said, leaning back. 

They sat in silence after that. Katria let it happen because she doubted she had the energy to pretend to be fine for too long. Cullen exhaled and soothed his hair back. 

“So the end of the Inquisition? That’s what you really want?” 

She smiled slightly. “You’re assuming I’ve made any decision as Inquisitor based on what I want.” She shrugged. “I think this is the right decision for everyone. I’m sorry you don’t feel the same way.” 

Cullen shook his head. “I don’t know how I feel. I just didn’t want to jump into things too quickly. You know, recklessly.” 

“I’m aware that’s your favorite adjective for me,” she muttered. 

“That’s quite far from the truth,” he said. “I can think of plenty of other words to describe you, but you’ll balk and call them sentimental.” 

Katria popped another cake in her mouth—she was eating them at a slower pace than usual. Hopefully Cullen didn’t notice. 

“I have thought a lot about this,” she remarked. “At least since we arrived in Orlais. I don’t think I’m being reckless.” 

“I understand,” Cullen said. “And I know Josephine agrees with you.” 

“What do you think?” she asked. 

He hesitated before resting his chin in his hand. “I was—resistant, I know,” he admitted. “But it’s only because the Inquisition has…given me everything. I have certainty now, some redemption. I found you, which was not a part of the plan.” 

“I feel the same way,” Katria said gently—though the Inquisition had now taken something away from her, too. Or maybe it had been all along. 

Cullen slumped back against the chair. “And I know those things won’t go away when the Inquisition ends, but…I would miss it.” 

“Me too.” 

A meek knock came at the door, but Katria said nothing, and neither did Cullen. It creaked open anyway. 

“Inquisitor?” a voice began. “I’m a healer—I’ve been watching over you the past few days and-,” 

“You can come in,” Katria remarked mildly. 

The young mage hurried inside. “When I heard you were awake, I came right away.” 

Cullen nodded to the woman—he likely knew her since he hadn’t left her side since she came through the Eluvian. 

Katria turned slightly to look at her. “That was kind of you, but I feel fine.” She put her plate back on the tray. “Great even. I seem to have slimmed down and lost a few pounds.” 

The healer opened her mouth slightly—clearly uncertain of how to proceed. Katria wouldn’t have minded if she or Cullen would just laugh at her damn joke. Was it so much to ask for things to go back to normal? 

She cleared her throat. “No pain? Discomfort? Do you have a headache?” 

“Nope,” Katria said. 

She paused, shifting uncomfortably. “Could I take a look at your arm?” 

Katria stiffened. She did not want that. If the healer looked at it, then she’d look at it. 

“Already did,” she replied off-handedly. “Looks fine to me.” 

Cullen straightened. “Kat-,” 

She pushed herself up from the chair—her legs felt a bit weak from laying in bed for so long, but she managed to stand and point to the healer. 

“Could you ask one of my servants to run a bath for me?” she began. “Probably would do me and the rest of the Palace some good. Can’t imagine I’m a dream to smell right now.” 

The healer didn’t want to leave without doing her job, but she wasn’t going to argue with the Inquisitor. She nodded. “Of course, Your Worship.” 

She scurried out of the room, and Cullen stood. “You could have just let her help.” 

“I am tired of being fawned over,” she replied. “I’m sure she’s already concluded that there is zero magic left from the mark. Solas did as he intended.” 

She heard Cullen’s footsteps, and then felt his large hand on her shoulder, and it took every ounce of her self-control not to flinch. Mostly because he wasn’t touching her—whoever she felt like right now, however surreal it was, it wasn’t Katria. 

She turned relatively quickly so his hand dropped. “You didn’t bring me any brandy,” she remarked. “Unforgivable.” 

“You hardly ate anything,” he said. “You shouldn’t drink on top of that.” 

Katria snorted. “That’s never stopped me before.” 

“You and Dorian might have consumed all the alcohol in the Winter Palace already,” Cullen said. 

She tucked her bandage under her intact arm. “Well in addition to doing whatever work you have to do for the Inquisition, I order you to find me some whiskey. Brandy. Anything.” 

He furrowed his brow. “I don’t have any work to do.” 

Katria gave a sharp laugh. “You’re telling me that you—Commander Cullen—haven’t shirked any duties these past few days?” 

Cullen cleared his throat. “Well—there’s…perhaps a few things.” 

“Go then,” she insisted. “I’ll be fine.” 

Katria squeezed his shoulder and slipped past him before he could kiss or do anything else to this person that she wasn’t. Cullen lingered, as usual, but then left, though he promised to return as soon as he could. 

She stayed in her chair, still slouching, staring at the small, colorful cakes piled on the tray in front of her. She had no appetite at the moment, which she did not want to admit. Because she wanted nothing to be different about her, even though nothing felt the same.


	7. Chapter 7

Cullen did not return for a few hours, and Katria greatly appreciated the time alone. Given the fact that she was still the Inquisitor, it was not too much time. Eventually, a tentative servant slipped into the room with her formal attire. Apparently, Josephine thought she needed to wear the outfit when she presented herself before the Exalted Council to end the Inquisition. 

Katria did not want to have the clothes altered. She didn’t want to have to put them on or parade around, but she was supposed to be fine. But in her fine state she could not button the lapels of her coat or lace up her breeches. She apparently needed someone just to help her be presentable. 

She did not stand in front of a mirror while alterations were made to the sleeve of her coat. She didn’t know if she would be okay with the person staring back at her. 

The door opened just as her servant finished up, promising to have the sleeve hemmed before she appeared before the council tomorrow. She thought it would be Cullen—she doubted he could stay away for long, but Dorian instead swept into the room. 

“I came when I heard,” he remarked. 

Katria raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been awake for hours.” 

“Well, I had to attend to some business first,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t know why everyone insists on coming running when a person wakes up. I mean, you’re awake. You’re fine.” He paused for a moment. “You are fine, aren’t you?” 

Her servant had packed up her sewing kit and was waiting for Katria to surrender her coat. Katria cleared her throat. “Thank you for your help. I’ll have this delivered to you.” 

The girl furrowed her brow slightly. “You don’t need help-,” 

“I can manage,” Katria said hastily, and she nodded deferentially before disappearing past Dorian through the door. 

He crossed his arms once the two of them were alone. “I asked if you were okay.” 

“I doubt that’s what you came here to talk about,” she said. “I was hoping you brought brandy.” 

He grinned. “Well, I put a bottle aside for you, but then you didn’t wake up in time, so I drank it.” 

Katria snorted. “So kind.” 

She looked down at her coat—the immaculate gold buttons taunted her. She reached up with one hand, the only one, and tried to unclasp one. It did not go well. She even lifted her other arm, instinctively, for it to help her, but there was no aide it could provide. 

Dorian cleared his throat. “Do you need-,” 

“No,” she said, moving to the second button after an inordinate amount of time. “Nope. I’m fine.” 

He shifted and looked down. “Listen, I know you have a husband to do plenty of fretting and emotional disclosure with you, but-,” 

“But nothing,” Katria interrupted. “Why would I have any desire to talk about my emotions? I didn’t before. I still don’t.” 

Dorian raised both hands. “I know, but I would be a bad friend to my only friend if I did not offer my . . . support.” 

Katria exhaled sharply. “As long as you’re here, at least.” 

“There’s still time,” he remarked. 

“And then what?” she asked. “Tevinter is a long way away.” 

He smiled slightly. “Is this your way of saying you’ll miss me?” 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she muttered.

Katria had finally unfastened the last button and wiggled out of the coat, leaving just a thin white shirt underneath. She tossed it onto her chair. 

“What a fucking ordeal,” she said acridly. “Just to get my coat off.” 

Dorian stepped closer. “You lived. That means something. That mark could have easily killed you. It was killing you.” 

Katria scrubbed her brow. “I know. I’m not—I’m…” Her hand dropped. “I am happy to be alive, and this—it’s not the end of the world.” 

“No,” he said. “The giant hole in the sky was the end of world. If not for you.” 

“I remember getting some help from a mouthy Tevinter mage,” she replied. 

“Fashionable, mouthy Tevinter mage,” Dorian corrected. “Magister, actually.” 

_Magiste_ r. Her dearest friend had a title now. A plan. 

Katria shook her head. “Dorian, if they assassinated your father, they’ll do it to you.” 

“Not if I kill them first,” he replied. “Which is my first order of business when I return. Other than getting a new outfit.”

“You want me to send you all the way out there, alone?” she said. 

“I won’t be entirely without support. Maevaris has gathered other magisters who feel as we do,” he said. “We’ll be an actual faction in the Magisterium. I’ll teach them manners. Take them shopping. It’ll be fun!” 

“Quite the plan,” Katria remarked, though she wished she didn’t sound so dour. She was happy for Dorian, but his grand agenda only made her blank future more apparent. If she wasn’t the Inquisitor, what was she? 

“Yes, well, I can’t say I won’t…” He reached into one of his many pockets. “Miss the company the Inquisition provided. Though I think you’ve made the right choice to end things. For you and the rest of us.” 

“I hope so,” Katria said. “I’ve never been right before.” 

Dorian pulled out a small red crystal from his pocket. “Luckily I will still be around to provide advice,” he said, as he handed it to her. “I’ve gotten us a pair of sending crystals.” 

She accepted it and ran her thumb across the jagged edge. “A what?” 

“It allows us to communicate even if we’re apart,” Dorian explained. “If I get in over my head, or you’re overwhelmed with sorrow for lack of my velvety voice—magic!”

“How sentimental,” she said, flipping it over in her palm. 

“Practical, you mean,” he replied. “I’m aware how listless you’d be without my guidance. Sadly, I have no solution to the fact that you won’t see my handsome face each day.”

“I don’t know how I’ll cope,” she said. 

Dorian smirked. “Well luckily you’ve got a husband who is almost as handsome as me.” 

Katria leaned against the back of her chair. “You do dress better.” 

He rested on his elbow beside her after a few moments of silence. A labored sigh left him. “Alright, here it is. Katria, you . . . are my dearest friend. Perhaps my only friend. That will never change, no matter where we are.” 

Katria felt tears welling up in her eyes so she looked down at the fabric of the chair. Damn Dorian and his emotional confessions. 

She sniffled. “When I lost my arm did you lose your sanity?” 

Dorian laughed. “You weren’t going to let even that one sentimental moment land, were you?” 

“One of us has to stay strong,” Katria replied. 

“I have no doubt you are that,” Dorian remarked. 

She hoped he was right. She inspected the crystal again. “Thank you for this gift, Dorian. I appreciate it. And you.” Her lip turned up. “Though I would appreciate you more if you brought me some brandy.” 

Dorian sat up and gave an exaggerated bow. “Your wish is my command, Inquisitor.” 

“For now, at least,” she said. “While I’m still in charge.” 

He patted her shoulder, and Katria had to stop herself from flinching, like when Cullen had touched her. “I’ll grab the nice wine from the cellar while the Orlesians can’t stop us.” 

“Good plan,” she said, with a faint smile. 

Dorian, too—of all people—hesitated before he left. Like there were some magic words he was waiting for her to say to assure him things would be alright. But she didn’t know those words. She’d said I’m fine over and over again, but it was not salient, not persuasive. But how was she supposed to explain that to Dorian? To anyone? 

Mostly importantly, how was she supposed to convince _herself_? 

=== 

A messenger came for Cullen as he loading up the Inquisition’s supplies with his soldiers. After Katria met with the Exalted Council and officially ended the Inquisition, their work picked up at a rapid pace. He did not mind because he was eager to leave Orlais. Still, Cullen was not going to let more contraband sneak onto their caravans and cause more trouble, so he hovered more than usual. 

There was no note from the messenger, and the man looked frazzled. “The Inquisitor’s healer asked for you,” he explained. 

Cullen furrowed his brow, trying to ignore the panic that coursed through him. He was overreacting, clearly. “Why?” 

“I can’t really say, sir,” he replied. “I couldn’t see the Inquisitor. I think she was injured while she was dueling.”

_Dueling?_ Katria was in no condition to duel. It had been a handful of days since she'd woken up, and though she insisted she was fine, she mostly confided herself to her room, in a single chair. She'd left to report to the Exalted Council, but other than that, he could hardly persuade her to leave, or even eat. She hadn't let a single healer look at her either. 

Cullen gave a small scowl, handed his requisition list to the soldier beside him, and tried not to look too worried as he crossed the courtyard. 

He arrived in their room and was immediately accosted by one of Leliana’s agents—his name was Spurling. An Orlesian who often got tips from Katria in the sparring ring. 

“Sir, I’m so, so sorry,” he sputtered. “It was—she was just-,” 

Cullen raised his hand. “What happened?” 

The agent’s eyes darted across the room—Katria was in her same chair, not facing him, while her healer crouched in front of her, dabbing a cloth on her face. 

“The Inquisitor asked me to spar with her,” Spurling explained. “A-And I didn’t know if that was a good idea, but she ordered me. And she kept ordering me to keep going, even though-,” He swallowed. “I was just following orders, sir.” 

Cullen was still confused, but waved his hand towards the door. “It’s fine, Spurling. Just-,” He stopped because he couldn’t tell her own soldiers not to follow her orders. “Just go. You’re not in trouble.”

He sighed in relief and practically ran for the door. 

Cullen rested his hand on his sword as he crossed the room. He could still not see Katria’s face, but she spoke in an annoyed tone to the healer. 

“You didn’t need to fetch him. I’m fine.” 

The healer stood. “Yes, Inquisitor.” 

Cullen rounded the chair and froze upon finally seeing Katria—suddenly, he wished he hadn’t told Spurling that he wasn’t going to get in trouble. 

Katria looked like she’d been shoved off a cliff and hit every rock on the way down—her lip was split, eye blackened, a cut right through her left eyebrow, not to mention the bruises that camouflaged the typical redness on her cheeks. 

“What happened?” Cullen began incredulously. 

She crossed one arm over her chest, tucking the other bandaged one under it, slouching lower. “I was sparring. It’s no big deal.” 

He shook his head. “Kat, I’m not sure in your condition-,” 

“I don’t have a condition,” she snapped. “There is nothing wrong with me!” 

Cullen was surprised at the ferocity of her tone. He threw a look to the healer, gesturing her towards the door. She hastily gathered up her tools and soiled gauze and left the room. 

“Of course there’s nothing wrong with you,” Cullen said, before the door had even closed. “I only meant that—obviously sparring will require some adjustment.” 

Katria frowned, not looking at him. “Why are you here?” 

Cullen knelt down, but she still would not meet his gaze. He knew better than to touch her. “Obviously the healer was concerned for you. Why did you push Spurling so hard?” 

“I wasn’t pushing him hard,” she protested. “He was just—treating me like a child. Like everyone else in this damn palace.” 

“I’m sorry,” Cullen said. “I know this has been difficult.” 

“It’s fine,” she muttered. “I should probably get some rest. Sorry for taking you away from your work.” 

“That is nothing to apologize for,” Cullen assured her. One tendril of hair was hanging near her cheek, and he resisted the urge to push it behind her ear. “Are you feeling okay?” 

“I’ve been hit in the face plenty of times,” she said. “I’m used to it by now.” 

Cullen considered leaving, but he couldn’t. Not this time. Katria had dismissed him with a smile and a joke too many times. Told him to go back to work even though he knew beyond a reasonable doubt that she was suffering. 

He put his hand on the cushion on her chair. “Kat, this isn’t normal. Spurling looked pretty rattled. Said you were shouting at him.”

“I was pushing him,” she said. “That’s what I’m supposed to do.” 

Cullen hesitated. “Yes, but he didn’t look injured. Seems like you were…”

Katria didn’t respond. She shrunk further into the chair, her bruised jaw clenched tight. “Yeah, it’s obvious he kicked my arse. I am-,” She exhaled shakily. “I am clearly of no use to the Inquisition.” 

Cullen’s brow wrinkled. “That’s not true. You can getter better. You’ll adjust-,” 

“Adjust and be what?” she interrupted sharply. “Mediocre? Decent? Good?” She leaned forward. “I have been fighting since I was a child. Fourteen years of practice with two swords, and now those skills are useless.” 

He rocked back on his heels—she was louder than he expected. “Just because you can only use one sword doesn’t mean-,” 

She was ignoring him and made a frustrated sound. “All I had was being a fighter. I’m not smart or well-read. I’m not charming like Josephine or strategic like you. I killed things and that helped people and now I’m not the best.” 

Cullen put his hand on her armrest. “Katria, you don’t have to fight anymore.” 

She inhaled a short breath and said nothing. Tears welled up in her non-blackened eye, which surprised Cullen because she hadn’t once cried since she came back from the Eluvian. 

“What am I supposed to do then?” she asked hoarsely. 

A few tears broke through and trickled down her cheeks before she clapped her hand over her mouth and doubled over. 

Cullen panicked—but was also relieved because at least Katria was expressing some kind of emotion. He nestled his hand in her hair and put the other on her shoulder. She was trembling, sobs barely muffled. 

“It’s okay,” he murmured against her hair. 

He held her as well as he could considering she was slumped over in a chair. Her sobbing eventually waned to a whimper, more quickly than he expected, though Katria was not one to emote for too long.

She lifted her head, eyes bloodshot. “I lost your ring,” she said softly. 

Cullen leaned back. “What?” 

Her arm was tucked in her lap, and she gestured to it. “When Solas took my arm, my ring was on my finger. It’s gone.” 

“Oh,” he said, before he quickly shook his head. “Don’t worry about that. We’ll get you another one.” 

“I liked that one.” 

Katria’s gaze fell—she looked like she wanted to cry again. Cullen tightened his grip on her shoulder. “I know.” 

He hesitated in the silence. Even if his words wouldn’t be good enough, he should at least try. “I love you so much, Kat. After the Inquisition, we are going to be-,” 

She leaned back. “Fine. We’ll be fine. I know.” 

Cullen searched her face. “The more you practice, the better you’ll get. With fighting.” 

“I’ll never be as good as I was before,” she muttered. “At least not for another 14 years.” 

He stood—his knees were killing him—and perched on the table across from her. “The skills you already have are useful to you, Kat. No one knows their opponent better than you.” 

Katria sighed. “I don’t have an opponent anymore. No Corypheus. No Qunari army.” 

“Then you’ll find something else to do,” Cullen said. “Something safer, so I am no longer married to a woman constantly running into danger.” 

“Sounds boring,” she remarked. 

He clasped his hands together. “I know you nor I have ever led normal lives, but…we might like it.” He shrugged. “If not, we can…I don’t know, move to Tevinter. Sounds like things are bound to remain exciting there.” 

Katria snorted. “Don’t tell Dorian you said that. He’ll begin packing our things.” 

“Let’s try Tevinter after we give Ferelden a chance,” he replied with a small smile. “I think you’ll like it.” 

She finally looked at him. “Thank you, Cullen.” 

“I’m here for you,” he said. “Forever.” 

Katria gave a weak smile. “You don’t have to keep being here right this minute. I’d prefer you to pack up our things as quickly as possible so we can leave this damn place. I shouldn’t have to put up with Orlesian gossip anymore.” 

Cullen stood. “As you wish, Inquisitor.” He kissed her temple. “I’ll see you soon.” 

He left to pack up their things more quickly--he knew Katria wanted to get back to Skyhold as soon as possible, but so did he.


	8. Chapter 8

When they returned to Skyhold, nothing felt the same. There was no more business-as-usual in the Inquisition—instead, everything was coming to an end. Cullen’s soldiers began planning their departures, Josephine catalogued all the things that needed selling, and he was tasked with dismantling the massive infrastructure of military bases they’d established across Ferelden. 

Deep down, Cullen was glad there was so much for him to do. His work was understandable, easy to tackle, not like Katria, who was impossible to decipher. 

She had things to do, too, but she was more apathetic than ever about her work. She had never cared about the Inquisition’s legacy, or her legacy, and was perfectly content with letting everything she owned be returned and her home emptied. 

Of course, Cullen had never heard her say any of that. The two of them hardly spoke at all, no matter how hard he tried to interact with her. She often ferreted herself away somewhere, and when she did appear in their room, it was to sleep. Not even in their bed—she just dozed off in the chair by the fireplace with a book draped over her arm. 

To Katria’s credit, she threw herself into learning to use the prosthetic Dagna had crafted for her about a month after they returned from Orlais. He’d spoken to Dagna about the piece, though Katria had not updated him on her progress. She just told him she was fine, and smiled, but he could see right through her. 

Cullen decided to return to their chambers in the afternoon, a break that he didn’t often take. When he opened the door, he heard a loud crash, like metal clattering to the stone floor. He hurried up the stairs a bit faster, and when he crested the top, he saw Katria slouched on an ottoman, the prosthetic at her feet. 

“Hey,” he began. “Are you alright?” 

Katria lifted her head, an angry slash in her brow. “Yeah, I’m alright.” She gestured down. “I just…can’t get the hang of this fucking thing.” 

Cullen walked the rest of the way into the room. “I know it’s been hard.” 

Her frown deepened. “I thought everything would be better when…” She sighed rather than finish her sentence. 

“It has been getting better,” Cullen said. “Even without Dagna’s help, you’ve learned to do a lot of things on your own and-,” 

Katria stood, facing the windows. “I don’t really want to talk right now.” 

He looked up at the ceiling, one hand on his neck. Katria, of course, never wanted to talk. She’d gotten upset in front of him once and then pretended like everything was fine. She did an especially good job around others—no one saw that her mischievous smile was no longer accompanied by a sparkle in her eyes. No one saw that she hardly ate, hardly drank, and slept her days away. She hated being touched. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d kissed. 

Cullen let his hand flop to his side. “Katria, I need to say something.” 

“I told you I-,” 

He walked over to her, cutting her off. “We both know you’re avoiding me.” 

She clenched her jaw, eyes on the open doors across the room. “I’m not.” 

“You keep pretending that you’re fine-,” 

“I am!” 

He made a frustrated sound. “I’m not an idiot, Katria. I live with you. You—you eat and drink basically nothing. You don’t sleep in our bed. You don’t let anyone touch you.” 

“Well, I’m sorry those things have inconvenienced you,” she snapped. 

“There’s nothing wrong with what you’re doing, but you can’t pretend that everything is normal,” Cullen insisted. “I wish you would talk to me.” 

She threw her arm out. “Newsflash, Cullen, but there’s nothing you can do.” 

“I’m not trying to fix it,” he said. “I want-,” 

Katria began pacing, voice sharper. “I can’t help that I have no interest in acknowledging the fact that my life is totally ruined!” 

“Your life isn’t ruined,” Cullen protested. 

She stopped and spun to him. “I thought so too, but it’s been almost two months and-,” She grit her teeth, clearly trying to hold back tears. “I feel worse. I am tired all the time, my arm, which is gone, and the entire rest of my body hurts, my clothes don’t fit because I can’t fight worth shit and I sit around all day with far too many feelings.” 

He stepped closer to her. “Why don’t we ask Marianne if-,” 

“I don’t want to talk to Marianne!” she exclaimed. “Or any other healer that you or Josephine has shoved on me. I know exactly what they’re going to say.” 

“If there’s something else wrong with you, we need to figure out what it is,” Cullen insisted. 

“Something else wrong with me,” she repeated in a growl. “Something else—,” She pointed angrily at him. “I’ll tell you what, Commander, there’s only one thing wrong with me right now, and it’s that I only have one fucking arm!”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it-,” 

She made a frustrated noise. “Maker, Cullen, yes you did!” she snapped. “If I don’t get to pretend everything is fine, neither do you.” 

An untouched set of glass tumblers sat on the small table beside her chair. She snatched one up and hurled it sideways against the fireplace. It shattered against the stone, punctuating the angry noise that left her. 

Cullen was silent, his failure screaming the loudest at him, while Katria stared at the fireplace where pieces of glass glistened on the floor. She bowed her head, hand over her mouth, like she was going to cry, though he hadn’t seen her do that for a while.   
She dropped her hand and turned for the stairs. “I should go.” 

He immediately stepped forward and grabbed her arm. “Katria, please-,” 

“I want to _go_ ,” she said abruptly, yanking herself from his grasp. Her eyes were glassy. “I want to go.” 

Cullen said nothing. He wondered just how far she wanted to go. Out of this room, or out of Skyhold? Somewhere where he couldn’t find her, where she could drink away her troubles and not talk to anyone at all. 

Cullen stepped back, lifting his hand in a sign of retreat. Katria darted from the room, down the stairs, and the door slammed shut seconds later. 

He sat down in Katria’s chair once she was gone, face buried in his hands. 

Despite what everyone had said, Katria was not feeling better with time. She was becoming more despondent, and it was his fault. He was her husband, and he was supposed to be there for her. And instead he was—often hiding in his office, sitting near her in silence because he never had the right words. 

Worse, he didn't even know if he was supposed to follow her. If it would even help. 

===

Katria thought about leaving Skyhold. Thought hard. She was so convinced of her need to depart she went to the stables to find a horse. 

Cullen had looked—so hopeless. So sad. Guilty. She knew he blamed himself, but it was nowhere near his fault. It wasn’t his responsibility to make sure she was happy—it was hers. 

But that was an impossible emotional state to maintain as of late. She’d been a decent Inquisitor, not much of a leader, but a good fighter. And now she didn’t have the skill she once had. Or the instincts. She still, still didn’t feel like herself.

As if proof of her precarious emotional state, she lost her temper again—an angry stream of curses—upon realizing that saddling up and riding a horse were now actions that required the aid of someone. There were so many things she had to re-learn—getting dressed, for Andraste’s sake—that she hadn’t had time to figure anything else out. 

Katria wasn’t sure she had the courage to leave anyway. To abandon Cullen, the Inquisition, without any notice at all. She’d done it before, but she should have grown by this point. Figured out how to be an adult and deal with her problems rather than running away. 

It was almost dark, so fortunately the stable was deserted, the others in the castle in the Great Hall eating. The ones that were left, anyway. Dennet had already returned to Ferelden, and others continued to pack their things, streaming out to whatever futures awaited them, while Katria stayed behind. 

If she wasn’t going to leave, or couldn’t, Katria could not return to Cullen. He’d been so patient with her, but surely his patience would dwindle, like it often did. He promised himself to her in marriage, but who was that person, anyway? She could hardly keep her life together, or maintain the energy to pretend she was fine with what happened. 

She climbed to the second story of the stable, shakily navigating up the ladder and flopping into a bale hay. She’d seen Blackwall sleeping here sometimes, but he was long gone too. 

At the Winter Palace, Katria had every intention to actually be fine, rather than just pretend. Her loss was unfortunate, unexpected, but it wasn’t detrimental. She was still alive, first of all, she still had wonderful (but physically distant) friends, a doting husband. There was nothing that could stop her from living the life she wanted, no matter what Solas or the mark had done. Her days of adventure didn’t have to be over, if she didn’t want them to be. 

Except then she arrived in Skyhold and all these emotions overcame her. The Inquisition had given her absolutely everything she had, but it took a lot away, too. In an ideal world, she wanted to be the Inquisitor without having to do what an Inquisitor was supposed to. That was impossible—so things had to end for the sake of her friends and Thedas, while she had no future in store. 

Worse were the physical symptoms of—whatever in the Void was happening to her. Her arm, which wasn’t even there anymore, hurt, and so did the rest of her. She was tired, impatient, angry—and then when she wasn’t frustrated or angry at her inability to do things she once could, she was sad. Listless, even. 

Katria rolled over in the hay, somehow more comfortable there than she was in her fancy Orlesian bed. She was tired all the time, so it wasn’t hard to fall asleep. Maybe it was a good thing too—an escape from a reality she was not ready to contend with. 

===

Katria awoke warmer than she expected, and when she tried to move, she found herself wrapped tight in a fleece blanket. She wiggled out of it and sat up, but there was no one around in the faint morning light. 

She recognized the blanket—it was from her bedroom. Which means that Cullen had wandered all around Skyhold that night looking for her. Or maybe he’d gone to the stables first because he knew her desire to flee too well. Regardless, he wasn’t there. Another night where they didn’t sleep in the same bed.

She was a little sore from sleeping on a hard bed of hay and wood slates, but she still wiggled down the ladder with the blanket draped around her shoulders. She managed to bundle it up under her arm as she left the stables. 

It was hardly sunrise, so luckily there were not many people shuffling around the courtyard. There was enough gossip in Skyhold, and no one needed to see the disheveled Inquisitor sleeping in the barn. The disheveled former Inquisitor. 

She took the back way to her room, choosing not to cross the Great Hall where people had gathered for breakfast. Part of her hoped Cullen would not be there. He often wasn’t because drills with his men brought him more joy than she did. Though there wasn’t much need for his men to be trained anymore. 

When she climbed the stairs, quietly, and then peered over the bannister, Cullen was there, sitting in a chair reading a report. His cheek was rested against his palm as his eyes scanned the page. She could smell his pomade and soap, so he must have just bathed. There was no longer glass scattered across the fireplace, and her prosthetic had been returned to the box on her desk. 

Katria hesitantly cleared her throat, and he lifted his head. His brow rose, but otherwise his expression was blank. 

“Hi,” she said awkwardly. She shuffled into the room and put the blanket on the chair across from him. “Thanks for the blanket. You didn’t have to, and I’m…” 

He put his report back on the table with the others and sat back. “It was no problem. I was worried.” 

Katria perched on the arm of the chair. “I don’t mean to worry you.”

Cullen sighed. “I know how strong you are, Kat, but it’s-,” 

“Unpleasant to be around me?” she finished. 

His brow furrowed in genuine surprise. “No—of course not. I understand you need to process this, and for all the times you put up with my short fuse because of the lyrium…” He shook his head. “I want to make sure I’m…doing enough for you. I feel like I’m not.” 

She rapped her fingers against her knee. “Everyone walks on eggshells around me. Not that I was ever treated normally when I was the Herald of Andraste.” 

“Yes,” Cullen agreed. “I was thinking last night that we hadn’t a normal conversation since we got back to Skyhold. You know, something not about Inquisition business or your feelings.” 

“I hate both those things in equal measure,” she remarked. 

“I can do better,” Cullen said. 

Katria flopped all the way into the chair from the arm of it, crushing the blanket under her. “Come on, I owe you…” She grit her teeth. “An apology. For how I acted last night.” 

He leaned forward. “I understand-,” 

“That doesn’t make my behavior acceptable,” she pointed out. 

Cullen paused, looking down at his hands in the silence. “I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard.” 

Katria ran her thumb over her brow. “Trust me, I want results too—or progress, at least, but-,” 

“You’ve made great progress,” Cullen insisted. “You have fantastic instincts and your dexterity is still better than mine.” 

She smiled slightly. “What I meant was I’ve been avoiding going to Marianne. I just want to believe that I’m fine. What if the magic in the mark was-,” She gestured vaguely. “I don’t know, helping me in some other way, and I’m going to feel like this forever.” 

“You won’t,” he assured her. 

Katria stood from the chair. “I should go do something about this barn smell. Then I’ll find her.” 

She was walking past him when he straightened as well. “You’ve also got hay in your hair,” he remarked. He pulled a broken strand from near her temple. 

Katria snorted. “Let’s hope Josephine didn’t see me trying to get back up here in this state.” 

To her chagrin, he pulled another clump from near her neck—the hay certainly stuck out against her dark hair. He stepped closer to her, his hand hovering near her jaw before he lightly rested his fingers against it. 

Her heartbeat soared—something that hadn’t happened in months, not since they returned to Skyhold. Cullen was very diligent about giving her space. Maybe too diligent. 

She tipped forward until their lips were pressed together. Cullen stiffened for a half-second, apparently that surprised she was kissing him. His palm flattened against her cheek, and she wrapped her arm around his waist to pull him closer. 

Katria broke from him before she became tempted to kiss him more deeply. Or other things. 

Cullen exhaled a warm breath through his nose, lip drawn up. “I love you so much.” 

She grinned in return. “Well, now I see you’re only here for the physical aspects of our relationship.” 

“And your jokes,” he added before wrapping her into a tight hug. 

She nestled her face in his neck and inhaled his scent, something she hardly felt familiar with now. Her fingers tightened in his tunic. 

“I really am okay,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to think that…I’m not the person you married.” 

Cullen pulled back. “I know that,” he said. “Did you—I never had doubts about that.” 

She squirmed in his arms. “The Inquisition is gone now. I feel different. So many things are changing, and maybe…” 

He did not reply at first and then to her horror, he let go of her. In the next moment, he was walking over to her desk and opening a drawer. 

She furrowed her brow. “Cullen-,” 

“This was delivered yesterday,” he said, heading back over with a small box in hand. 

Katria reached out to accept it, but instead of handing it to her, he dropped to one knee in front of her. He opened the box, her wedding ring nestled inside—except her wedding ring had been lost when she saw Solas. 

“Will you marry-,” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Well—will you stay married to me, Katria?” 

She grinned, resisting the urge to laugh. “I—I’m stunned,” she said. “Mostly because I never expected my husband to propose to me again.” 

He lowered the box and turned it to look at the ring. “Cassandra thought it would be romantic.” 

Her grin widened. “It was. Sickeningly.”

Cullen stood. “I hope it’s alright.” 

She wiggled it out of its place. “It looks exactly the same. It’s uncanny.” She reflexively raised her arm to put it on her finger—the same finger she’d worn her ring on for two years—but there was no longer a finger to put it on. She stopped and pursed her lips to one side of her face. 

“Here,” Cullen said. “I’ll do it.” 

He slid the ring onto her other finger, then showed her his hand—the right one, his ring moved to the same finger as hers. A mirror image. 

“I prefer it on my right hand, too,” he remarked. “No sense in putting it on the one I don’t use very much.” 

Katria put her hand against his cheek. “Quite romantic. Was this Cassandra’s idea too?” 

He kissed her palm. “No.” 

She leaned forward to bring their lips together again, clinging to his tunic as he pressed them flush against one another. This time she responded to him when he teased her mouth open and deepened their kiss. 

Cullen eventually pulled away, breathless. “I will…admit I missed that,” he whispered. 

“Among other things,” she replied. 

He smiled slightly. “Very true.” His hand reached up to push her hair behind her ear. “As much as I would like to reenact old times, Rylen is expecting me.” 

“And I still smell like a barn, so that’s probably a good call,” she said. 

Cullen kissed her again, more fully than she expected. “I love you,” he said. 

“I love you too,” she whispered back while his hands dropped from her side. 

“Promise you’ll come find me as soon as you talk to Marianne?” he asked, as he turned to his armor stand to suit up. He wore armor despite the fact that there was definitively no need for it. 

“Of course,” she replied. 

Cullen was strapped into his breastplate and bracers faster than she expected. He fastened his coat as he walked back over to her. 

She crinkled her nose. “You know that thing is pretty hideous. I’m rethinking my answer to your proposal.” 

He kissed her cheek. “That’s too bad because you already married me.” He exhaled after meeting her gaze, probably out of relief. “Did I mention I loved you?” 

“You did,” she said. “And I’m not about to say it back twice in one conversation.”

“Fair,” he replied with a smirk. He quickly ran his thumb across her cheek before turning to the stairs and disappearing down them. 

Katria watched him go with a smile—she should have learned a long time ago that confiding in her friends and family would make her feel better, not worse. But she hadn’t much family or many friends before the Inquisition, so in some ways, this was still new to her. Marriage felt like it was sometimes, certainly. But she liked it, liked being in a marriage. 

It made her think maybe she’d like other things she was uncertain about, too.


	9. Chapter 9

After Katria bathed, she sent for Marianne. In the meanwhile she tried to eat breakfast, but again found herself with no appetite. Any food that the Skyhold chefs made seemed to repel her, despite how talented they were. Katria tried not to let it dampen her spirits. 

Marianne appeared with her bag, face neutral as always. “I expect you to be completely honest about your symptoms with me,” she announced, never one for greetings. 

Katria stood from her chair. “Oh, come on, what is that supposed to mean?” 

She put her things on the bed and set one hand on her hip. “You are notorious for downplaying any pain you have. Ignoring serious injuries. Never taking my advice.” 

“Point taken,” she muttered, then sighed. “I’ll be honest.” 

Marianne gestured to her. “Thank you. So what’s going on?” 

“Well, I seem to have lost my arm.” 

Marianne didn’t even crack a smile. “Ha-ha. Very funny. Did you ask me here to practice quips?” 

“Excuse me for trying to lighten the mood,” Katria replied sullenly, then she waved her hand. “I’m not…sick or anything, I just wanted to make sure that…how I’m feeling is normal.” 

“How are you feeling?” Marianne asked. 

“I have pain in my arm—where my arm was,” she said. 

Marianne nodded. “Normal. It can last up to a few months after the amputation. Or longer.” 

“I also get headaches,” she explained. “And aches in my back and chest. I am tired all the time.” 

“You’ve been through a lot,” Marianne said mildly. “That’s natural.” 

Katria walked over and sat on the bed. “And mood swings? I get frustrated easily, which I expected. But…I’m crying more. Or I’m tempted to. Three days ago I couldn’t find any clothes that fit and apparently that was a tear-worthy situation.” 

Marianne was looking over at the untouched tray of food on the table. “You don’t seem like you have much of an appetite.” 

“Yeah,” Katria said. “Most of the food they send up I don’t have the stomach for.” 

Marianne turned to face her. “Do you not have the appetite for it or does it make you sick?” 

“I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “I guess the thought of eating it makes me a little queasy.”

Marianne was quiet, and Katria lifted her head. “Is that normal? Are you going to tell me I’m dying or something? It just seems like a side-effect of me being…a bit down, but you know Cullen. He wants to check.” 

“When was your last monthly?” she asked. 

“Monthly?” Katria began. “Um—I’m not sure.” 

“You’re not sure?” Marianne said incredulously. 

Katria huffed. “I am the Inquisitor, you know. And I’ve had a few more pertinent things to worry about.” She put one arm over her chest. “I don’t think I’ve had it since…before the Winter Palace.” 

Marianne did not reply until she crossed the room and sat next to Katria on the bed, their arms close to touching. 

“Katria, you’re pregnant.” 

She snorted. “Ha. Now who’s making dumb quips.” 

Marianne didn’t smile. “I’m serious.” 

Katria cocked her head for a brief second. “That’s—ridiculous,” she said, a nervous laugh leaving her. “Come on. You can’t just declare that I’m— _that_. I mean, everything we talked about is just as easily a symptom for-,”

Marianne scrutinized her face. “Your skin doesn’t look good either. That could be another sign.” 

Katria leaned back. “I thought women carrying—those were supposed to…glow. You know, the miracle of life or whatever.” 

Marianne straightened. “Sometimes. Not for others.” 

She abruptly stood. “I knew I shouldn’t have asked you to come. This is what healers do-,” She paced to the other side of the room. “You take perfectly benign symptoms and turn them into some big absurd diagnosis.” 

Marianne crossed her arms. “You used to come to me every month for the herbs you need to avoid pregnancy. I haven’t seen you for a month and half.” 

Katria made a frustrated sound. “That’s because I haven’t had sex with my husband for a month in a half because I was dealing with-,” She gestured vaguely to her arm. “We have hardly kissed since—since we were at the Winter Palace.” 

“Well did you use the herbs then?” she asked. 

“I don’t remember that,” she snapped. “I mean, we slept together that first night and by the next morning there were dead Qunari and bombs everywhere. I had bigger things to worry about.” 

Marianne looked down at her feet. “You could have forgotten to take them.”

Katria threw her hand out. “So that’s how it works? One time and now you think I’m…” She couldn’t even finish her sentence. There was no way Marianne was right. It wasn’t possible. 

She put her hand against the back of the plush chair and leaned into it slightly. “I-I can’t, Marianne,” she choked out. “I mean, I’m just re-learning how to take care of myself. I couldn’t possibly—I wouldn’t be able to…” 

Her chest wrenched into a tightness she was unfamiliar with and she stooped further into the chair with a groan. She’d foolishly pushed past her denial to consider the implications of what Marianne was saying, and her fear multiplied until she felt like she would burst. Her breaths soon came out short and hot—her thoughts suffocating her, strangling her vocal cords, closing off the sounds and sights of the room as she stared at the floor. 

This wasn’t how this news was supposed to be received. She was supposed to be happy about having a family and instead she felt like vomiting. 

“Katria,” Marianne said from directly beside her, now grabbing her arm. She had a severity in her tone that indicated she’d been speaking for quite a while. 

Marianne guided Katria down into the chair, told her to breath deeply, but she merely flopped down and buried her face her hand. Eventually, her racing thoughts released their suffocating grip, but only slightly. 

“This can’t be happening,” she croaked. “This can’t…” She dropped her hand to look at Marianne, who was crouching beside her. “Are you sure?” 

“No, I’m not, though there are ways we can be,” she said. “I have a lot of experience with this, though, and I haven’t been wrong before.” 

“Well there’s a first time for everything,” Katria replied reflexively, though she too knew that Marianne was right. She should have known. 

She rested her temple against her fist before Marianne could say anything. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?” she asked. 

Marianne leaned back on her heels. “What are you concerns?” 

“My concerns?” she began incredulously. “First, I-I can’t even dress myself at the moment in basically any clothing that has buttons. I can’t pull my hair back, I can’t cut up my own food, I can’t-,” 

She raised her hand. “It’s perfectly understandable to be concerned about that given how recently you lost your arm, but there are many women who take care of children without the use of all their limbs.” 

Katria sighed. “I never even told Cullen that I wanted children. We talked about it before the Exalted Council, but then…it got dropped from conversation.” 

“You never planned on giving him an answer?” Marianne asked. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted. 

Marianne was quiet for a moment. “Listen, Katria, you can take care of a baby. You can raise a child and love it and provide for it just as you would have before the Exalted Council, even if it might be more challenging. But you don’t have to.”

Katria swallowed roughly. “Why is this happening to me?” she murmured. “Why now?” 

“Perhaps it’s a blessing,” Marianne remarked. “You are probably the last person in Skyhold who hasn’t considered what they’re going to do once we leave. You refused to consider it even before the Exalted Council. Now you must.”

She leaned against the back of the chair and looked at her stomach, hidden under her oversized tunic. There was nothing there to see, but her insides squirmed anyway because apparently there was a human person growing there. 

“Cullen wants to move to Ferelden,” she said. “He hasn’t spoken about it since we got back, but I know that’s what he wants. Cassandra has offered me land near his family. He’ll probably open his clinic for Templars.” 

“Is that what you want?” Marianne asked. 

Katria let an exasperated breath leave her. “I’ve never lived a normal life, you know. I never settled down in one place. The Inquisition was the closest I ever got to normal, and I was basically worshipped.” She stopped and looked over at the fireplace. “With all that said, I know I…don’t want to be the Inquisitor. I’m tired of being responsible for the welfare of Thedas. I’m tired of dealing with nobles. Negotiating with people. And I’m not tired of fighting, but I wish my life wasn’t on the line so damn often.” 

Marianne stood. “You might not hate living a normal life.” 

"That's exactly the problem," she said. "I don't _know_ what I'll like. And I would prefer a bit more certainty when it comes to bringing a human into the world." 

"You have time to figure out what you want," Marianne assured her. "Panicking will not help, certainly." 

"I know," Katria muttered. 

Marianne began packing up her bag with practiced precision. "I've got an idea." 

Katria sighed. "Are you sure you don't have an answer? To what I should do?" 

She straightened. "Meet me out in the courtyard later this afternoon. It will be good for you to get some fresh air." 

Katria nodded. "Okay. For what?" 

Marianne patted her on the shoulder. "You'll see." 

The healer left with no further words--she was not one for being comforting. And Katria was not even sure it would help. 

When Marianne was gone, Katria flopped down on her bed. Alone, except _not_ alone. She thought she was starting to panicking again--her chest tightened in a familiar way--but she managed to stay calm enough to keep herself together. At least for the moment. 

She needed a distraction. A big one. So she'd stop thinking about how inopportune this whole situation was. Stop thinking about what Cullen might say. What if he didn't even want children anymore? Maybe he just gave up because of what happened at the Winter Palace and because they were both almost 35. 

Thirty-five and expecting a child. Which was _perfectly_ normal. But Katria had never done normal. Not as the Inquisitor and not before. What if she wasn't good at it? What if she started living a normal life and realized she didn't want it? 

===

Marianne asked Katria to meet her in the lower courtyard. She hiked down the steps, keeping her head down because she felt as if everyone knew what had happened. She also did not want to see Cullen because then she’d have to—share. 

When she reached the grass, Marianne led her to the portcullis without any preamble. Katria jogged after her. “Is something wrong?” she asked. “Why did you send for me?” 

Marianne looked over her shoulder. “Nothing’s wrong.” 

They stopped in front of the portcullis. “Well I assume this isn’t a purely social call,” Katria replied. “Is this about—you know…” 

Marianne cocked an eyebrow. “It’s still real even though you won’t say it.” 

“I can,” she said petulantly, then she gestured to her stomach. “You told me this morning that I’m…that there’s some—business in this general area. Like child-business.” 

“Great,” Marianne said, expression more critical than ever. “Eloquent. Be sure to explain it to Cullen just like that.” 

Katria huffed. “And you call me insufferable. I am carrying a child. Because apparently the Maker thought it would be funny to make me lose a limb and gain a baby.” 

“I don’t think those have anything to do with each other,” Marianne remarked. 

She pursed her lips, face downcast. “I just…don’t know if I’m ready.” 

“I know,” Marianne said, and then she raised her hand to a cloaked woman walking across the snowy bridge. A child was skipping beside her—maybe five years old, though Katria wasn’t great at pinpointing ages. 

“I thought I’d introduce you to my friend. She lives in the village outside Skyhold—a requisition officer for Josephine.”

The women reached them—she had short brown hair, cropped close to her temple like Cassandra’s, and looked only a few years older than her at most. She smiled and gave a small bow. 

“Inquisitor, it’s an honor. My name is Rowena.” She gestured to the girl beside her. “This is my daughter, Francie.” 

Katria extended her hand in greeting. “Please, call me Katria.” She stopped upon realizing that Rowena could not shake her hand—her daughter clung to her right arm and she did not have another to offer. Her cloak had covered her shoulders, but now Katria could see clearly they were mirror images of one another. 

“I’m sorry,” Katria said sheepishly. 

Rowena smiled slightly. “Nothing to be sorry for.” 

Marianne gestured to her friend. “I thought Rowena might be a good resource for you, Katria.” 

Rowena nodded. “I was right where you are two years ago,” she explained. “I lost my arm unexpectedly during the attack on Haven.” 

Katria furrowed her brow. “You mean when Corypheus attacked? With the Templars?” 

“Yes,” she said. “That dragon of his spit out a fireball—it hit a trebuchet, and the whole thing collapsed under me. Pinned my arm.” 

“I’m…” Katria stopped and swallowed—she wasn’t sure what to say. She was aware of the sacrifices her soldiers made for the Inquisition. She’d mourned the losses, felt guilt because she was supposed to lead these men and women and not get them killed. “I’m sorry I didn’t do more that night.” 

“You did plenty,” Rowena assured her. “You saved my family. My husband and Francie were able to escape because of your bravery.” 

It wasn’t bravery, Katria thought—it was more of a reflex now, but she’d learned not to say those things. “I’m glad they made it out safely.” 

Rowena’s daughter had extricated herself from her mother’s grasp and wandered over to a patch of flowers. Rowena watched her pick the petals off a yellow flower.

“As am I,” she agreed. “Though I’ll admit I was not well in the aftermath.” She looked back at her. “I was the protector of my family. My husband works with Dennett in the stables, so I was the soldier. After I lost my arm, I worried…that wasn’t who I was anymore.” 

“Yeah,” Katria said absently. “Not sure how much of a duel-wielding rogue I am now.” 

Rowena snorted—the only one who ever had, despite how many times Katria had made the joke. “I’ve seen you fight. You could beat some men with both arms tied behind your back.” 

“You’re too kind,” Katria muttered. “I can hardly lace my own breeches.” 

“You’ll learn,” Rowena said. “Re-learn. It takes time.” 

Katria rubbed her neck. “I’ve heard that a lot. It’s very vague and not terribly comforting.” 

“I know,” she said. “And it’s stupid, too, because it doesn’t just take time. It takes work.” She sighed and frowned slightly. “When we first came to Skyhold, I was…in poor spirits. I sulked, I lost my temper—I didn’t do what the healers told me too. Didn’t stretch. Didn’t practice. I just fervently wished I hadn’t lost my arm.” 

“What changed?” Katria asked. 

Rowena shrugged. “I…had to work. My husband and I don’t come from wealthy families. We needed income, and I had a daughter to take care of.” 

Katria shifted awkwardly. “How did…I mean, I don’t want to pry, of course, but with your daughter…” 

“You’re not prying,” Rowena said. “I just didn’t think you’d care about all that since you’re not a mother.” 

Katria reddened and look down. “Well, you know…” 

Marianne interrupted to save her. “She might. Someday.” 

Someday _today_ , and Katria’s stomach flipped. 

Rowena gave a small wave and smile to Francie who had begun putting flowers in her hair and called for her mother to look. She lowered her hand. “That was the hardest obstacle for me,” she admitted. “Coming to terms with the things I can’t do anymore. Or might not be able to do someday.” 

Katria grit her teeth—her instinct was not to be honest with her feelings, but she knew she should be. “I can hardly take care of myself. I don’t know how I’m supposed to take care of someone else, too.” 

Rowena looked surprised. “You’re the Inquisitor,” she said. “If I can do it, you can.” She waved her hand dismissively. “It’s not even because of that, actually. Yeah, you might have to rely on others for a few things, but you can still hold your baby. Love it. Teach it all the things you know.” 

“In the future,” Katria added sheepishly, though she doubted Rowena was fooled. 

She grinned. “Whenever you’re ready for it, Inquisitor.”

“Thank you,” Katria said. “For taking the time to talk to me. If there’s anything I can do for you while I’m still the Inquisitor, let me know.” 

Rowena bowed slightly again. “I think you’ve done enough for my family. And Thedas.” 

She turned and headed over to her daughter, who offered her a bouquet of her yellow flowers. Rowena accepted them with a smile and encouraging words, before the two of them disappeared back through the portcullis. 

Katria looked over at Marianne. “I wasn’t worried about the arm, you know.” 

Marianne shook her head. “I didn’t ask Rowena to come here because of that. I thought her situation might give you some perspective.” 

Katria opened her mouth to speak, but stopped. Rowena had said she’d found the motivation to move forward because she had to. There was no choice for her but to support her family, or fail. 

Katria had once lived like that. She fled to Ferelden to eek out an existence as a mercenary, a scribe—any job she could take. But once she became Inquisitor, there was no need for that. Though there was an immeasurable amount of pressure on her, she was never wanting for anything. She had the best clothes, the best weapons, the best food, and even after the Inquisition, it never occurred to her that she wouldn’t have any money. Cassandra had offered to deed her a massive tract of land to secure her for the rest of her life. Varric had given her an entire house in Kirkwall. 

Marianne spoke in the silence. “Between the Blight, the war between the mages and Templars—I’ve seen a lot of men and women lose what you have. None of them were the Inquisitor. None of them have the resources you do.” 

Katria sighed. “So I’ve lost touch.” 

Marianne faced her, frowning slightly. “I didn’t mean that. Your life as Inquisitor has been difficult—maybe worse—for many reasons. The pressure on you, the visibility. It’s taken its toll, but the Inquisition has given you a lot as well.” She put her hand on her shoulder. “Your reaction to this news, to your arm—it’s natural and legitimate and it’s okay to be rattled.” 

Katria clenched her jaw. “I’d rather not have an emotional reaction to anything, actually.” 

Marianne dropped her hand. “As would I.” 

She glanced back out at the portcullis, resting her hand on her hip. “I was supposed to have more time.” 

Marianne cocked an eyebrow. “I saw what your Mark was doing. It should have killed you. The Maker has given you more time than anyone could expect.” 

“That’s a comforting thought,” Katria muttered. 

“The point is that you can’t plan your life,” Marianne said. “You take it as it comes, fast or slow.” 

Katria scrubbed her brow. “We’ve had a fair number of sentimental conversations lately. It’s disturbing.” 

Marianne smirked. “I agree. So tell Cullen the news, and you can have those conversations with him.” 

Katria cleared her throat. “You know, I passed the garden earlier, and I saw a fair number of weeds, so I maybe I should-,” 

“Tell him today,” Marianne interjected. “Now. Sooner than now.” 

“Let’s start with today,” Katria said. “Cullen’s probably busy…calibrating trebuchets.” 

“We sold those.” 

Katria pointed to her. “I will see you later.” 

Marianne called after her as she walked away. “Today, Inquisitor!” 

She did not turn and just waved her hand as she hiked up the stairs. She kept walking all the way to the garden, hoping to find some task to distract herself from the fact that she was no longer just herself. She was not alone now because apparently there was a person growing inside her that was hers and Cullen’s and besides the timing that was just weird. 

She wondered if Cullen would be excited—if he even still wanted a family after everything that happened. He’d probably show no emotion at all. He would shrewdly consider each facet of the situation and then come to the conclusion she couldn’t. Because Cullen was smart, stalwart, dependable. 

Katria had never taken stock of the privileges she had as Inquisitor. She agonized over what future she wanted because she had that choice—she could go to Kirkwall, live in Ferelden, return to the Free Marches, anything. People would clamor to assist her in doing whatever she wanted. Dagna couldn’t wait to craft her a prosthetic using every resource Thedas had to offer.

She was lucky to have so much opportunity ahead of her. Most of all, though, she was lucky to have a husband like Cullen, who stood by her no matter what. Any child of hers would be lucky to have him, too. 


	10. Chapter 10

Katria visited Dagna in the Undercroft at the end of the day. She fastened her prosthetic to her arm and let Dagna make whatever adjustments she needed—including ensuring everything fit as securely as possible. It was truly a marvel, what Dagna had crafted and enchanted with the help of her family in Orzammar, even if it frustrated Katria at times because she needed to adapt to it, and it never reacted as quickly as her natural hand.

Dagna had to leave quickly after they met—she was very particular about how her supplies were being loaded up to leave Skyhold and often checked in on the progress of Cullen’s soldiers. Katria stayed behind in the shadowy room lit faintly by the natural light streaming in from the waterfall and Harriett’s hearth. She unfastened her arm and put it in the box Dagna had made for her. 

The wooden door across the room scratched against the stone as it opened. She expected Harriett, who would probably mutter and complain about the soldiers trying to catalogue all his supplies. 

Instead, it was Cullen. She hastily faced Dagna’s table rather than greet him because a greeting meant a conversation and a conversation meant she would have to tell him about—about that. She drank in air more frantically as she heard his boots against the floor. 

“I thought you’d be down here,” Cullen remarked. 

She nodded, running her finger along the edge of her box. “Just met with Dagna about some things.” 

Cullen leaned against the table beside her. “Better you than me. She’s been rather insistent about how my men should be handling her enchanting supplies.” 

Katria stepped back and pointed to the door. “Do you want dinner?” 

“Yes, but I want to hear about how it went with Marianne,” he said. “You didn’t come by.” 

She looked out towards the waterfall at the back of room. Maybe she could leap into it and avoid this conversation. “Sorry. I got distracted.” 

His brow wrinkled slightly. “Well, I hope there was no bad news.” 

“No,” Katria said. “There’s nothing wrong with me.” 

He smiled. “Good.” 

Cullen pushed himself from the table, ready to leave, because he wasn’t expecting anything more than that. Katria almost followed him because technically she’d told him the truth. There wasn’t anything wrong with her. Just…different. New. 

She thought maybe she should wait until she knew for sure. About the baby. No reason to tell Cullen and get him worked up if there was no certainty to it. 

Luckily for Katria, her stomach flipped at the thought of lying like that. Or omitting information that amounted to a lie. Cullen didn’t deserve that. 

“Hey, Cullen,” she said, and he turned to face her. 

Katria walked to the center of the room, closer to the forge, her hand on her hip. She cleared her throat. “I might have-,” She stopped and grit her teeth. “There’s nothing wrong with me, but there is something else…” 

Cullen hesitantly took two steps closer, concerned now. “Kat.” 

“Marianne thinks…” She flexed her fingers. “She thinks that I might be pregnant.” 

An awkward silence hung between them, overpowered by the sound of rushing water, before Cullen exhaled in a breathy sound that seemed almost like a laugh. 

“You’re—not serious,” he said. “You’re…” He shook his head. “With…with a _child_?” 

She shrugged. “Or a dragon. Probably won’t know for sure for a few months.” 

Cullen reached up at rubbed the back of his neck. “Maker’s breath.” 

“She could be wrong,” Katria said hastily. “I mean-,” 

“Do you have any reason to believe she’s wrong?” Cullen asked. 

She sighed. “No. I just…have had trouble processing it.” 

He was quiet, hand sliding down his neck until he crossed his arms. She hadn’t known how he would react to this news, but she should have known he wouldn’t be brash. He would contemplate and strategize and probably come to a conclusion faster than her. 

“Is this good news?” he eventually asked. 

For some reason, Katria was overcome with guilt—she did not know what she wanted, but telling Cullen she didn’t want a child when he did seemed….daunting. 

“Cullen-,” 

He apparently heard the guilt in her voice. He quickly closed the space between them and put his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, Kat, this is not about me. This isn’t what I expected when I asked if you wanted to have a family. I thought we would have more time.” 

She felt tears welling up in her eyes and fought hard to keep them there. “I’m sorry. I am—freaking out. I should know what I want, but…” 

“I know,” he assured her. “It’s hard.” 

Katria made an exasperated sound. “It apparently wasn’t hard for you! You just know you want a child? How? Why? Is that what I should want?” 

“I can’t tell you what you should want,” Cullen replied. 

She leaned into him. “Yes, but it would be so helpful if you did. Marianne won’t.” 

“You’re joking right?” he began incredulously. “I can’t do that.” 

“Well why aren’t you trying to convince me to agree with you?” she asked. 

Cullen gaze fell. “That would hurt more than it helped. If you have a child that you don’t want because of me, five, ten years down the line, you will be unhappy. You’ll resent us and…its not worth it.” 

“But-,” 

He stepped back. “You can’t let others tell you what you think.” He threw his hand out. “Damn it, Katria, you are an insufferably obtuse woman who shares her opinion about everything. How could you not have an opinion about this?”

She clenched her jaw. “I—I have an opinion, okay? I do.” 

“What is it?” he asked. 

Tears rushed in again, and she turned to the waterfall. “I am scared that I’m not equipped, Cullen. I love children, you know that. I would love to watch you be a father. But I’m not—I can’t…” 

“Katria, if this is about-,” 

“It’s not the arm!” she cut in abruptly, facing him. “I felt unequipped long before that.”

She wiped her eyes because a few pathetic tears had escaped. “I never had a good parent, Cullen. I’ve never taken care of anyone but myself.” She sniffled. “What if I’m not ready? What if I’m still that—that scared, pent-up, emotionally-incompetent woman who fell from the Breach two and a half years ago? That person is not a mother.” 

Cullen’s face softened. He walked over and embraced her, gathering her up against his armor. “Oh, Katria…” he murmured. “You’re not.” 

She buried her face in his neck. “That’s all? You’re not?” 

He stepped back, holding her upper arms. “I don’t know what to say to make you believe me. I can repeat what I’ve been telling you for years, but you never listen. You never believed me when I told you what you meant to the Inquisition, and you won’t believe me when I say that you will be good at this.” 

She let her gaze drop, blinking away more tears. Cullen could believe whatever he wanted—have faith in her, even, but that would never change who she was. Faced with adversity, would she flee her responsibilities? Would she give up because caring for others was so new to her? 

“I would never abandon our family,” she whispered hoarsely. 

His lips drew up in a small smile. “I know.” 

Katria sighed, dropping her head so her temple pressed into his coat. “Maker’s fucking balls, Cullen,” she muttered, then spoke more clearly. “This won’t be easy, you know. I’m only now re-learning so many things, and I can’t even begin to use that contraption of Dagna’s.” 

“We have time, and I will be with you to help the whole way,” he said. 

She looked at him. “How are you okay with the timing of this? I-It’s insane. We end the Inquisition and then six months later, we have a baby?” She faced the wall again because she had the intense urge to pace. “That’s a person you know. That we have to take care of constantly. And forever.” 

He cocked an eyebrow. “Katria, I can’t imagine how this will be more difficult than defeating a darkspawn magister, which we have already done.” 

“Those are fundamentally different things,” she pointed out. 

“We can accomplish whatever we set our minds to, alright?” he said. “Raising a child is no exception.” 

She raised a finger to him. “That sounds too sentimental.”

“You’re the one that’s crying,” he replied, grinning. 

Katria snorted. “Fuck you. This is your fault.” 

“I think it was a joint effort,” he remarked, following her to where she stood. 

She let her shoulders slump. “This is huge, Cullen. A life-changing event when my life is already in transition.” 

His hand reached up to touch her cheek. “Perhaps it’s perfect timing then.” 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Katria asked. 

“Yes, absolutely,” he replied hurriedly. “I—I can’t think of anything more I want.” 

She returned his smile and hugged his waist with one arm. “We do have one final problem.” 

He nestled his nose in her hair. “What’s that?”

She looked up at him. She couldn’t quite rest her chin on his breastplate—she was too tall—but she could get close. “It seems that our child was conceived during our last….caboodle. Which was at the Winter Palace during the Exalted Council.” 

“How is that a problem?” he asked. 

“Because our future child was conceived in Orlais,” she replied.

He shook his head, grinning. “As disappointed as I am by that, I don’t think our child will be an Orlesian just because it was conceived there.” 

“Alright,” she replied with a resigned expression. “I guess we’ll just have to take our chances.” 

Cullen hugged her tight with no reply, probably wishing he wasn’t wearing his armor because she was really just squished up against his breastplate. He sighed, and his breath ruffled her hair. 

“I never thought I’d have any of this.” 

Katria had never understood Cullen’s certainty about his plans after the Inquisition. But now she could see he craved the normalcy he’d been without for so long—the normalcy he once had. He grew up in a loving family, not a wealthy one like hers, but an honest one, with kind parents, and supportive siblings who sought out their brother even when he abandoned them for so long. He wanted to return to that part of his life, to also have a family, and help others do the same. 

But she had no fond memories of her childhood to cling to, no place to return—she had him, and her friends. And a child now, apparently, who she was welcoming into a world that…

Katria pulled back from Cullen’s embrace. “Should we really be having a child?” she asked. “We know Solas’s plan for us. Why would we bring a baby into a world that will soon be destroyed?” 

He thought for a few moments. “We could never create a completely safe and peaceful world, even if we tried,” he said. “And as for Solas, I’m certain his plan won’t come to fruition. He’ll have to contend with you, after all.” 

She shook her head. “You know he can turn people to stone, right? By just looking at them?” 

“Well Corypheus had a dragon, and that didn’t seem like much of a problem for you,” he said. “And with myself and the others on your side, Solas won’t be either.”

Katria leaned back into him. “Thank you, Cullen,” she murmured. “I don’t know how I could have done this without you.” 

He squeezed her. “You could have. But I’m glad I was here to help. I love you so much.” She could feel him smiling slightly. “Both of you.” 

Katria blanched and squirmed from his grasp. “Oh Maker that was terrible.” 

He chuckled. “Well there are technically two of you.” 

She waved her hand and walked past him. “I couldn’t possibly expose my child to such cloying sentiment. I see I’ll have to raise it alone.” 

Cullen just laughed again and followed her. He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed, while she leaned slightly into him. When she glanced over at him, he was grinning stupidly, like he had on their wedding day or when he’d asked her to marry him. Or whenever he kicked her arse at chess. 

Despite how silly she felt, she was smiling too. 

===

They didn’t tell anyone about the news right away. With the clothes Katria already wore, no one could really tell her body looked any different. And excepting the fact that she felt nauseous quite often and one time threw up in the bushes when she was supposed to be training Bailey, there were no other visible signs. Even Cullen played it cool most times, other than his habit of asking about her well-being far more than was necessary. 

To be fair, life still involved old frustrations. She’d made a more serious commitment to learning to use her new arm and working without it, but her progress wasn’t nearly what she wanted it to be. The more she thought about how soon she’d be responsible for another person, the more nervous she got that she wouldn’t be ready. She imagined Cullen felt that way too, but she had more ground to cover, more dissonance to overcome because sometimes when she looked in the mirror she didn’t recognize the person staring back at her. 

Still, with the Inquisition ending, she had time to practice—there wasn’t much for her to do anymore since Thedas didn’t need saving. Josephine incessantly asked her about material things she wanted to take with her, but there was no fancy piece of furniture she needed as a keepsake. If Katria had it her way, she’d even sell that silly dragon sword hanging over her desk, though Josie would never allow that. Neither would Cullen. 

So the ornate furniture left her room. The Great Hall. Carried out to museums or the homes of other nobles. It was nothing she wanted, and though Cullen had convinced her to keep some coin in trust, much of it was returning to her soldiers, who were returning home themselves. 

They kept some furniture around, like her bed, which she and Cullen would sleep in until their things were loaded up and taken to Ferelden. A home in Ferelden that Katria had not seen, though Cullen assured her it was nice and that she would love it. There were at least two bedrooms, she assumed. 

Katria thought about these things, and many others, when she was supposed to be sleeping. She got plenty of rest because she was often tired, but there was a lot on her mind. She mostly laid curled up on her side while Cullen slept beside her. 

“Are you awake?” 

Katria’s brow rose in surprise—from what she could see out on the balcony, it was the middle of the night, and Cullen had gone to bed hours ago. 

“No.”

Cullen shifted in the bed and snorted. “Very funny.”

Katria lifted her chin slightly to peer over her shoulder. “Why aren’t you asleep?” she asked. 

He paused for a moment. “I keep thinking about—everything, I guess,” he said, then a smile tugged at his lips. “I haven’t been this excited since I left my family to join the Templars when I was a child.” 

“Well let’s hope this turns out better for you,” Katria remarked, though she realized belatedly that was probably crass. 

He reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. “I don’t regret anything that happened in my life. It brought me to you, after all.” His chin eventually rested on her shoulder. “So why are you awake?”

“Do we really have to talk about that?” she muttered.

“We’re alone, Kat,” he said. “No one else will hear you sharing your feelings.” 

Katria exhaled a warm breath. “I know you’re excited, but—there’s so much we have to do. So much to prepare for. We’re picking up and moving to Ferelden and then—then there will be three of us.” 

“We still have time, and I promise I have everything arranged in Ferelden. The house, the land-,” 

“Yes, but what about the child?” she began exasperatedly. “I mean, I’ve never had one, you know.” 

“Neither have I,” Cullen said. 

She shifted a little more to face him. “You’re not nervous? At all?” 

“I am,” he admitted. “I don’t like uncertainty, and this is…definitely that. There’s so much I don’t know.” 

She paused for a moment. “You should tell Mia. Maybe she will have some advice.” 

“You don’t mind?” Cullen asked. He had lifted his head to rest his hand under it. 

Katria furrowed her brow. “Why would I?” 

“Well, we haven’t told anyone yet,” Cullen said. “I didn’t know if…” 

“I know,” she said with a sigh. “We should. It’s been long enough.” 

He didn’t reply and instead reached his free hand over to her shoulder. They laid in silence, and Katria wondered if it was finally becoming real for Cullen. It was real for her already—she carried around a reminder that there was a person inside her, but on the outside, she didn’t look so different. 

But once they started telling other people—well, then maybe it was really real to him. Which was a bit terrifying because Katria had just started acknowledging it was a baby. 

“Cullen?” Katria began tentatively when the silence stretched longer. 

He squeezed her shoulder. “You were always in so much danger as the Inquisitor.” 

She smiled slightly. “Oh, I don’t know, dragons aren’t so bad once you kill your first two.” 

“I hated watching you go. Every time.” 

“Cullen-,” 

He sat up, one hand on his knee. “At the Winter Palace, I came to this terrifying realization that maybe I was never meant to have anything good in my life. That I was destined to lose you the minute I fell in love with you.” 

She pushed herself up beside him, wiggling out of the heavy covers. “I came back.” 

He looked over at her—she could hardly see how his pillow had matted his hair in the darkness. “I know, and I have never been happier. I sometimes find it hard to believe that I have a life like this.” 

Katria leaned over so their shoulders were touching. “Me too.” 

Cullen gave her a weak smile, and she rested her cheek against his skin. She did not know the type of life they had at the moment, exactly. There were hints of normalcy—husband, baby, house in Ferelden, but she was also the Inquisitor. Her life after this point was as a washed-up hero who eventually people wouldn’t recognize. Which maybe wouldn’t be so bad. 

Cullen leaned back against the headboard, making it creak as Katria pondered beside him. 

“Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” 

Katria’s brow rose slightly. Cullen was always trying to make plans and find certainty. “Do you have a preference?” she asked. 

He shook his head. “No. I can teach either how to use a sword and shield.” He smirked. “Though a miniature version of you does sound like a handful.” 

Katria scooted to face him with an incredulous look. “No way are we having a family of little warriors. Being a rogue would be much more useful.” 

“Not if they’re tall like me. Or you, for that matter,” Cullen pointed out. He waved his hand. “You know, I assumed we would first discuss our child’s name, not their fighting style.” 

Katria smiled slightly. “Well, when I tell Dorian tomorrow, I’m sure he’ll throw his name in for consideration.” 

Cullen snorted. “I don’t think his ego can afford to be any bigger than it already is,” he said. “Aren’t there some ancestral Trevelyan names we should use?” 

“Maker, no,” Katria replied, after she balked for a moment. “Unless you want our child to be unceremoniously bullied. Or named after my father, who was an arse.” 

He was quiet for a few moments before he gave a small shrug. “My father’s name was Stanton.” 

“None of your nephews are named after him?” Katria asked. 

Cullen shook his head. “No. I asked Mia a few months ago why that was, and she told me that her and my other siblings agreed I’d probably want my son to be named Stanton. I was close to my father.” 

Katria rested her hand on his knee. “That’s why you talked to me about having kids before the Exalted Council, isn’t it?” 

“Yes,” he admitted. “It…got me thinking.” 

She curled up against him. “Seems like a fine name for our child then.” 

“That would…” He cleared his throat. “Mean a lot to me.” He shifted so his arm could wrap around her shoulders and pulled her tighter to his chest. “But what if it’s a girl? We could name her for you.” 

Katria gave a sharp laugh. “You’re joking, right?” 

“Your name means something now,” Cullen insisted. “There are probably hundreds of infant Katrias in Thedas because of you.” 

“If we name our daughter Katria, she’ll live under my shadow her whole life,” she replied. “The Inquisitor’s daughter, not her own person.”

“Do you have any ideas then?” he asked. 

Katria pushed her hair behind her ear. “You know, Cassandra was responsible for bringing us both to the Inquisition—recruiting you in Kirkwall and keeping me from running off in the Hinterlands.” 

Cullen leaned forward so he could look at her. “You want to name her Cassandra?” 

“Well it would infuriate Dorian,” Katria remarked. “She’s also one of my closest and most reliable friends, and if our daughter was anything like her, we’d be very lucky.” 

He thought for a few moments before nodding once. “I agree.” 

“Just…don’t tell Cassandra that,” Katria said. 

Cullen smiled slightly. “Of course not.”

She exhaled and her shoulders dropped. “We have time to reconsider, if necessary. Plenty of time. Months.” 

“It will be here faster than you think,” Cullen remarked. 

Her stomach flipped. “Don’t say that. I’m not sure I’m ready.” 

He took her hand and squeezed it. “You are. We both are. I promise.” 

There was no way Cullen could know that, but he was trying to be comforting, which he was much better at than he used to be. Not that she had room to criticize on that front. 

Katria settled back against him, closing her eyes when her head found a comfortable groove in his chest. While she often wanted to stay awake at night mulling over the new changes in her—their—life, she was too tired more often than not. It was probably better that she didn’t fret anyway. That could be left to Cullen.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I've got so far! If I add anything after this, it will jump around and involve just ridiculous fluffiness. I may also come back and edit these chapters, if inspiration strikes! Hope y'all enjoyed!

“Inquisitor?” 

Katria was standing in front of her empty mantle, smiling slightly. She looked over her shoulder and spotted Josephine by the stairs. 

“I have been begging for years to be just Katria,” she said. “Not Herald. Or Your Worship. Just Katria.” She pointed at her friend. “And now I am. The Inquisition is over.” 

Josephine shook her head. “Alright, Katria. Your caravan is ready.” 

“That didn’t take long.” 

She crossed her arms. “Well you’re hardly bringing anything with you to Ferelden. Other than an inordinate amount of daggers.” 

“Of course,” Katria replied. “The essentials.” 

She turned completely, but was only facing an empty room. All her furniture had been sold or shipped away, and her voice echoed up the walls from the emptiness. 

She was trying not to be nostalgic—to think back to when she’d first entered this room years ago. It had been just as empty, though dirtier, and she’d wanted nothing more than to leave it. Cassandra had told her she was the new Inquisitor at the time, and she had never felt more uncertain or unequipped. 

Now, she felt unequipped again. And perhaps just as uncertain. 

“Let’s get going,” Katria said. 

She followed Josephine down the stairs, and then into the Great Hall—another grand, hollow space that was once the nexus of her entire organization. Their entire organization. She’d wielded so much power here. She _judged_ people, for Andraste’s sake. Could have put them to death, if she wanted. Perhaps one good reason the Inquisition needed to end. She did not want that kind of power for too long. 

Her throne, the tapestries, the mosaics—all gone, leaving the massive chandeliers and dust. She strode through the center of the room with her eyes straight ahead. Josephine scurried behind her. 

Katria pushed open the heavy door with her shoulder and one arm after refusing Josephine’s help, though politely. Cold air rushed in once she opened the door, rustling her gray cloak and her oversized tunic. 

The sound of applause also rushed in, and Katria froze at the top of the stairs. 

The remainder of the Inquisition was gathered on either side of the courtyard—the men, women, and soldiers from the village, applauding her. Cheering like they’d done far too many times before. 

“Damn it, Josie,” Katria said, throwing a glare back over her shoulder. 

“I did not arrange this,” Josephine insisted, though a grin tugged at her lip. “They only want to wish you well.” 

Katria hesitantly descended the stairs to the first landing. It was not any easy for her to receive this kind of attention, but she raised her hand to the crowd anyway. 

Josephine joined her with her writing board still rested against her hip. Katria lowered her arm. 

“You want me to say something,” she said. “To have some grand, inspiring message.” 

“It would be nice,” Josephine remarked mildly. 

Katria smiled to the crowd and waved again. “Not going to happen.” 

Josephine smiled. “Lucky for us, you don’t have to say anything to be inspiring.” 

Katria made a disgusted noise because that was far too sentimental and complimentary. She descended the second half of the stairs. She took the time to greet the soldiers she saw—she had spent her last days here with them, in the tavern, in the Great Hall, trying her best to thank them for her service while they gushed about her. 

When she finally reached the lower courtyard, she spotted Cullen near the end of the path. She broke into a wide grin when she noticed he wasn’t wearing his armor—just a tunic and breeches. 

Katria stopped in front of him. “I see I’ve vanquished my final enemy.” 

“I packed the coat in the caravan,” Cullen replied. “It will live to fight another day.”

She shook her head. “I see. Well, I guess I needed something to do in Ferelden anyway.” 

Cullen looked over her shoulder at the courtyard. “Are you ready to go?” 

Katria turned so she was facing the castle. Her home. The only home she’d ever known.

“I don’t know.” 

Cullen put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Neither do I.” 

“We should leave, though,” Katria remarked. “Maybe the cheering will stop.” 

“They’re grateful for all you’ve done,” Cullen said. “They’re proud to have been a part of this.” 

“So am I, but I don’t need to clap about it,” Katria muttered, then she cleared her throat because she sounded ungrateful. “Sorry.” 

Cullen said nothing—he probably knew she lashed out because she was feeling particularly vulnerable. Emotional. 

She blinked away the tears she could feel at the corners of her eyes, determined to maintain her composure with a clench of her fist. 

“Let’s go,” she said, and they crossed the portcullis where Josephine and Leliana were waiting. 

She’d already said her goodbyes to them. She’d been saying them for weeks. Had bid farewell to Varric, Dorian, Blackwall, Bull, Sera—everyone she held dear. 

She and Cullen only had one wagon. Cullen helped her step inside—she was tempted to refuse his help, but decided against it. 

Cullen settled in beside her and grabbed the reins of the horse. His hands clenched them until his knuckles were white. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, eyes on her. 

Katria craned her neck around to look behind her at Skyhold. She could see the whole expanse of the castle over their meager supplies. 

This place would revert to what it once was—an abandoned castle that had lingering memories of greatness. It was tainted by the fact that Solas had led them to it, but it was important to Katria all the same. She’d truly transformed here—into someone with friends, a family, a purpose. 

Skyhold—the Inquisition—had given her a life she never thought she would have. For good and for bad. If she had to pick, it was mostly, overwhelmingly good. 

She smiled widely at Cullen once she finally turned back to him. 

“I’m sure,” she said. “I’m ready.”


End file.
